


once upon a Reality

by Bean_reads_fanfic



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempt at Humor, Endgame Fix-It, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Mind Manipulation, Not Thor: The Dark World Compliant, Protective Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Sentient Infinity Stones (Marvel), Timeline Shenanigans, i was told this was unnecessary to tag because we all ignore it anyway but:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:53:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24313084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bean_reads_fanfic/pseuds/Bean_reads_fanfic
Summary: A supernatural stranger appears in Tony’s house to make him a deal: Peter has been taken, but if Tony can locate him in each of a series of fiction-based alternate universes, they can have each other back.Along the way, they work a couple things out.(Crack taken seriously, pretty much; based around the children’s story, “The Runaway Bunny”, featuring 6 different AUs)
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 245
Kudos: 456
Collections: Irondad Big Bang 2020, Spiderman Fanfiction - Waiting4Update





	1. fish and fisherman

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eccentric_artist_221b](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eccentric_artist_221b/gifts).



> The snippets in italics are from the 1942 book The Runaway Bunny, so credit to Margaret Brown for writing a bop of a childrens' story for me to base this on. Gifted to eccentric-artist-221b as a late birthday present :) Art by starlight-sparks on tumblr.  
> Happy IronDad Big Bang 2020!

_Once a little bunny said to his mother, “I am running away.”_

_“If you run away,” said his mother, “I will run after you. For you are my little bunny.''_

...

Tony’s fallen asleep in Morgan’s bedroom before; especially when she was around three and started getting nightmares, it would get to the part of bedtime where he tries to leave and she would say, “Daddy stay?” with such puppy eyes that he had no choice. Even past that phase, there would be times he put both of them to sleep with one of her many cheesy bedtime stories-- which was especially embarrassing evidence of his age, he supposed.

On this particular occasion when he found himself waking up in Morgan’s bedroom… he really couldn’t remember how he got there. For one thing, there was no Morgan. For another, he could see the sun high in the sky outside her pink-curtained window. 

He rubbed his eyes as he sat up on her bed, and two more clues to the abnormality of the situation hit basically simultaneously. First: he pulled his hand away and found that there were burn scars - _brand new_ , to the best of his recollection - wrapping around his right hand and arm. He startled and held his hands out, examining them with sudden alertness; they were extensive and patterned like Lichtenberg figures. Was this an experiment gone wrong? Did he electrocute himself and lose the memory of it? If that’s the case, why was he recovering in Morgan’s bedroom of all places? He turned to look at himself in Morgan’s wall mirror and saw that they extended even up his neck and face on the right side of his body. 

That was when he saw the final clue: American actor and narrator Morgan Freeman was standing by his daughter’s bookshelf, casually flipping through the pages of a storybook. 

Tony started. “What the -” 

The older man looked up and smiled warmly at him. “Ah, there he is. How’re you feeling?” 

Tony was feeling winded, if he were being honest. He rapidly got to his feet but the speed was a mistake: his head spun with lights and he had to clutch the wall for support a moment later.

“Easy, easy--”

“Why are you in my house?” Tony interrupted, frustrated and confused but managing to steady himself. “Who - who are you?”

The intruder frowned, seeming disappointed. “You don’t recognize this form? I’m an actor from the films you’ve got downstairs.” He said it with the air of a child dressed up for Halloween.

Tony bit out, “Morgan Freeman was dusted in the Snap, and beside that I’ve seen enough magic bull in my time to know appearances can be deceiving, so cut to the chase - who are you and _why are you in my house_.”

Instead of answering, the man smiled wide again. “Oh, those memories might be a bit jammed; it happens. You did a number on yourself, you know that? Look at that arm. Think for a moment, Tony, you’ll remember. The ‘Snap’ is reversed now.”

It felt for a moment like Tony was trying to find meaning in a forgein language, or from some poem or riddle that Pepper might enjoy but not him. He was a scientist, he needed facts laid out. He glanced at his arm when it was indicated though, and at that last prompt - _The Snap is reversed now_ \- he felt a phantom pain shoot through the limb. 

Phantom pain, as in... _remembered_ pain? The scars throbbed in answer. It felt like a tiny reminder of a greater pain he’d felt that he’d nearly been - no, _had been_ \- crushed beneath, and recently. But when...?

_“And I… am… Iron Man.”_

That pain, accompanied by blinding light. Dust in the air again except this time it was a _good_ thing, not like the thing it had been when he lost Peter--

The kid. The kid had been in front of him - crying. _We won._

“I died,” he realized. He remembered his heart stumbling on each beat, coming to a stop. His vision had dimmed and the pain had left and he had died. What he’d been planning for all along (with EDITH, and the messages left in his helmet)... It finally happened. 

Not-Morgan-Freeman was nodding. “Not dead anymore, though,” he said far too casually; like that was something that happened often. It was compounded by the way he changed topics suddenly, holding up one of Morgan’s DVDs like a long-lost treasure. “Oh, look at this! ‘The Princess Diaries’. That’s a classic.”

His eyes flashed a bright red; his image shimmered scarlet and then in his place was Julie Andrews. She took a prim seat on the rocking chair in the corner and smoothed her skirt. 

There were too many questions to know where to dig in.

“You were right, obviously,” Julie Andrews started, unprompted. “I’m not a ‘normal’ human. I’m not a human at all. You and I have met, briefly - I am what you call ‘The Reality Stone’.” She offered a queenly wave. “It was your own Peter who brought me here, to tend to your other query. Well, not here to Earth, as that was the raccoon and the God of Thunder, but as far as seeking out my _specific_ area of expertise and striking a bargain in this very room not thirty minutes ago - all Peter. Bright kid for a mortal; I was happy to do business with him.”

Red flags, red flags everywhere. “Okay, wait, pause, back up,” Tony demanded, making a time-out gesture with his hands. “You’re one of the space rocks? And you’re a _person_?” The woman started to open her mouth, but Tony’s anxiety spiked and he interrupted, “No, wait, nevermind, I don’t care; go back to - you said - what did you say about... Peter?” 

He hadn’t said the kid’s name out loud in so long. The two syllables held so much: ashes on his hands and the feeling of them never quite washing off; nightmares and slaving over time travel models for years in secret in the dead of night. Losing hope… regaining hope. 

He remembered the last quiet, comforting thought in his mind before he greeted death, when his tunneling vision found Peter again: _this was worth it_. 

Which is why his heart came crashing down at Julie Andrews’ clarification:

“Peter brought you back to life, Mr. Stark. He and I made a trade of realities: his for yours.”

“What does that mean? What does that effing _mean?”_ Tony growled, masking his terror with anger as he stalked toward the woman. 

She raised her eyebrows, unconcerned. Red eyes flashed, and Julie Andrews was replaced with Anne Hathaway.

“What is reality?” she asked smoothly, standing and walking a slow half-circle around Tony. “It is that which exists independently of all other things. Your reality, about 45 minutes ago, was Being Dead. Peter’s was Being Alive. I’m not the Soul Stone, I don’t preside over the nuances of what happens to your individual consciousnesses between life and death, nor do I care, but… the stories, the narratives - those I enjoy. Those I can change. That is what Peter wanted: a different story.”

As she spoke, red washed up the room and a holographic image of Peter formed not two feet from where Tony now stood. The sight of him - even knowing inherently that this projection was past, not present - was a punch to the gut. 

Peter was knelt down, holding the red stone in his palms as though it were a prayer rosary, his eyes screwed shut as if in physical pain. 

In Tony’s preparations, he’d imagined his possible death as a small price to pay for success; a no-brainer when considering the math - one life to restore trillions’. He couldn’t feel regret about it even now.

But one look at the kid like this and he knew it wasn’t what he wanted either. Peter’s grief was all over him. It reminded Tony of when their roles were reversed. He was acquainted with the desperation in his voice: 

“ _Please_ ,” past Peter said hoarsely. There was nothing of his bright normal self. His fists clenched over the stone, frame shaking. “ _Please, make it different. Bring him back, please bring him back. You can take me instead. Just change it._ ” 

“Kid,” Tony rasped, heart torn. 

He was in a black dress suit and remnants of tears smeared on his cheeks, and Tony realized only then that this was occurring during his own funeral - it was probably even still going on. Now Morgan’s room made sense - it was private, far from where anyone would find and stop this. And someone _should have_. Where was Dr. Strange when you needed him? Where was May? How did this kid manage to swipe a stone without anyone noticing?

Hologram Peter opened his eyes, tilting his head back so that he looked straight up. For a moment his face relaxed into something peaceful and then he washed away in a red wind.

Tony was reaching for Anne Hathaway’s shoulder before he even told his body to move. 

“Where is he now, what did you do to him?” he begged. “Why - why would you listen to him, couldn’t you see he was grieving? He would have gotten over it, he just needed time--” 

Her arm vanished into bubbles before his grip landed; spinning around desperately, he found her lounging on the window sill without having walked there. 

She looked at him unwaveringly.

“I told you, I don’t know what happens to your souls,” she said. “I changed the story, as he wished. Now you’re alive and in exchange he is quietly removed from the narrative. Your family would probably be glad to see you, you know - they are right downstairs mourning you and unaware. This is what Peter wan--”

“Peter - Peter _is_ my family!” Tony cried, his knees giving out and bringing him to the floor in the very place Peter did the same. “He’s... he’s _important_ to me...” 

_This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening_ again.

He sucked in a breath, overcame, tears biting at the backs of his eyes and hell, he was so _sick_ of mourning Peter Parker. He pressed his hands into his eye sockets. “You’re the whole reason I did any of this, kid,” he whispered, too late. “It’s not a victory without you.”

The Reality Stone was quiet, seeming curious. It occurred to Tony vaguely that this being, entity, whatever, might not even understand the concept of love. Going by the look on her face, she really didn’t know why he was upset. 

But she was _interested_. 

“Goodness, everyone’s so bossy with me today,” she tutted. For a moment she hesitated but then seemed to make a decision. Red rippled by her hand and the Reality Stone pulled a children’s picture book out of the air. She opened it gently and eyed Tony over the top of the cover. 

“How badly would you want him back?” she asked.

Tony lowered his hands, staring blankly. “What kind of a question is that,” he said hollowly. “If there is something I can do to get him back, you’d better start talking _yesterday_.”

She hummed, flipping a page loudly. “You see, usually, these things require balance. Give a life, get a life. Matter cannot be created or destroyed. Et cetera.” Tony bit his tongue against pointing out how little relevance this speil seemed to have. Meanwhile she lowered the book and leaned forward. “But you know, that Thanos guy - he really broke the rules on a massive scale anyway, right? What do rules matter anymore?”

In a flash, Anne Hathaway was replaced by Shia LeBuff. “Let’s ‘ _just do it’_ ,” he said, hopping to his feet, book still in hand. “I have only one _tiny_ quest for you to prove yourself… and if you succeed then you can have Peter back.” 

“Consider it done,” Tony said. 

Shia grinned, turning the book cover eagerly so that Tony could see. It was a worn copy of _The Runaway Bunny_ by Margaret Brown - gosh, that was read to _him_ as a kid. 

“This is a story I enjoy,” said the Reality Stone. “But I don’t understand it. The child rabbit decides he will run away in a variety of silly ways, the mother rabbit tells him she will always find him in equally silly ways... I would like you to show me how this works.”

Growing increasingly impatient and unsure how this related to getting Peter back, Tony hurried to say, “I’ve read it to my daughter about six hundred times, I can tell you anything you -”

“No!” the Stone interrupted petulantly. “I want you to _show_ me. I’m familiar with many stories in your world; I’ll simulate some that represent the scenarios in this book.”

“...You’ve lost me.”

“Peter will be the runaway rabbit,” he said with exaggeration. “ _Find_ him in each Reality, Momma Bunny, and I’ll let you keep him at the end. It’s a test of mettle, if you will. If you really want him so badly… prove it.”

Swatches of red were already beginning to swirl around the corners of the house, like a paint roller covering the soft colors of Morgan’s room with something dark and unknown.

“Wait,” Tony stalled, a sudden surge of worry sparking in his veins. “What if I can’t find him in any one Reality?”

The being who was the Reality Stone shrugged, and his grin was almost sinister. “I guess you’ll just have to stay there.” 

With that, the world Tony knew was swallowed completely and another took its place, the last thing his eyes registered being the innocent cover of the children’s book.

…

_“If you run after me,” said the little bunny, “I will become a fish and swim away from you.”_

_“If you become a fish,” said his mother, “I will become a fisherman and I will fish for you.”_

Tony found himself stumbling onto hard, unsteady ground. 

The strong smell of outdoorsy air registered immediately to his senses but it wasn’t the earthy air familiar to his cabin - it was the salty, sort-of-stinky air he associated with the ocean. And as he looked from his feet underneath him to the lurching environment, he realized, that’s where he was: on a boat in the open ocean. 

Tony sucked in a breath. 

Even as he side-stepped to counteract the tilting of the deck, arms out for balance, he swiveled in a quick circle to take it all in. It was late afternoon, the sun up but low and casting a beautiful array of colors over the horizon; in the opposite direction, Tony was relieved to find land - they were probably only a couple miles out from shore. People bustled around him who clearly knew what they were doing on whatever kind of vessel this was. They paid no mind to him as he backed up to the railing. The Reality Stone was not around, at least not in a form Tony recognized. And neither was Peter.

Tony was on his own in whatever fictional version of the universe this was, and if he understood correctly… he had to start looking for his kid, ASAP. 

He spent the last week dismantling time and space to get Peter back, the last five years pouring over what he could’ve done differently to stop the kid from leaving when he didn’t want to go… he was _not_ going to fail this time. He was going to hold Peter in his arms again - not while one of them was crying and fading, and not in a brief moment of calm on the battlefield; a real hug. No matter what it took.

He just hoped it didn’t take getting stuck outside reality.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Tony muttered. He ran through what he knew of _The Runaway Bunny_ in his head. On the first page, the little bunny says he’ll be a fish so the parent becomes a fisherman. 

Nearby, a few men hauled a full net of wriggling red fish onto the deck with shouts of enthusiasm to one another. Barrels nearby held previous catches.

“Dear lord, dear… Thor or _whoever_ , please do not let Peter be a literal fish,” Tony said in deadpan but genuinely dreading. Even so he found himself looking closely at the fish’s faces to see if any of them were familiar. 

A stout sailor in a quintessential blue-and-white striped shirt got Tony’s attention by shoving him aside to start yanking on an ascending rope. “A fine strong wind and the following sea!” he exclaimed. “King Triton must be in a friendly-type mood!” 

Tony blinked. “Who now?” 

“Why, ruler of the merpeople, mate!” called another sailor sorting fish. “I thought every good sailor knew about him.” He waved a flopping fish around, pointing it as Tony as he spoke. “Down in the depths of the ocean they live!”

“Merpeople,” scoffed another. “Pay no attention to that nonsense.”

Their accents placed as something European, maybe Danish? Tony would guess that this was around the early to mid-1800s, just going by their clothes and the old-fashioned boat. That was as far as he could decipher of this story; he was a genius, but a nautical expert he was not (at least not without a night of cramming).

He began a subtle exploration of the deck while keeping out of the way and observing what he could. Nothing caught his attention; a hatch to below-deck was open so he helped himself down the ladder. There was a narrow hallway with several doors - some with bunks, one with a sort of cafeteria, and another with an office and bookshelf. This last one led him to browse the collection a bit, and his suspicion of 19th century Denmark was deepened by what he found. One book contained an antiquated map of the surrounding land, which Tony stuffed in his jacket as he made his way back to the deck. 

“Where are you, bud?” he asked the open water, having briefly and frustratedly paged through the maps. Could the kid be lost at sea - someone they needed to rescue? That seemed most likely, except it was getting dark and the boat’s future was unknown to Tony. 

He started crossing from stern to bow - see if he could attempt useful conversation with anyone - and made it almost to a group of sailors before realizing he’d left behind his borrowed book. He glanced back, not too concerned, but did a much more alert double-take:

A head was poking up by the railing. 

A _familiar_ head.

“ _Wha-_ Peter?” Tony gasped, raising into a call on the kid’s name.

Peter’s eyes - which were roaming from the book to the deck curiously - snapped to Tony and for a long moment they stared at each other, mirroring surprise. 

Then Peter slowly started lowering out of sight.

“Hey!” Tony yelled. The kid scurried away as Tony ran back the way he’d come, slamming into the side and leaning as far as he dared. His heart dropped at what he saw: a splash, and no Peter. “ _Crap_. Hey! We - we need some help over--”

His cry cut off abruptly as he squinted into the gray water, feeling like his eyes were playing tricks on him but no- there was definitely a giant red tail fin slapping the water in retreat. 

Someone belatedly approached Tony and asked, “What’s that, mate? Need a hand with something?” 

“Uh,” Tony said, not turning, heart still pounding. “Nothing. Just… someone stole my book.”

He had the next hour to pour over the situation, not moving much except to go steal someone’s coat and bundle himself up in it. By that time the ship had docked and was merely bobbling in the wind. Some sailors left for town, others went below deck; Tony was still staring at the water, chin on his arms. 

Peter was out there; _half_ -fish. 

He guessed he should’ve paid better attention to the opening lines of _“The Little Mermaid''_ during its turn at Stark family movie night; He could only think of grabbing a row boat he didn’t know how to use and go calling Peter’s name over open water, but since Peter didn’t seem to recognize him, that probably wasn’t going to bring his kid running… Swimming. Whatever. He was probably at the bottom of the sea, reading his book, being a nerd even in this limbo. 

Then he got an idea. Slowly he raised his head and turned.

“Hey, bandana!” he yelled to a group huddled and playing cards. One with a bandana tied on his head, the same who’d waved a fish at him about _King Triton_ earlier, turned and raised his eyebrows. “Yes, you,” Tony confirmed. “Have you ever tried to catch a merperson?”

The man laughed. “Myself, no, matey,” he said, shifting his head in invitation, at which Tony ventured closer. “That’s bad luck, don’t you know?”

“Is that what yer over there on your lonesome thinkin’ about?” another scoffed. 

Tony sat at the edge of light from their lanturn. “If you believe they exist, someone has to have seen one. Or _wants_ to.”

“Well…” Bandana mused, scratching his scruffy chin. “I suppose there’s always a few curious souls - rascals, mind you - around that I could refer ya to. I’m tellin’ you though, that’s an errand for someone who wants to _offend_ the sea more‘n anything.”

“I’ll take my chances,” said Tony. “You got names?”

Bandana did. And directions, which are how Tony ended up on a much less regal-looking boat by the next morning. It was smaller, the crew sparser and younger, but Tony didn’t intend to trust them for long; if all he needed was to get to Peter, their business was a risk he’d have to take. And luckily, they were interested.

“Man, I sure love reading all these _books_!” Tony called, hands cupped over his mouth for projection. “Yes, very sciency books about fascinating human things! About - uh - gadgets and gizmos and whosits and whatsits!”

“I don’t get it,” whispered one of the handful of his recruits. They were stationed behind barrels and boxes on deck, with Tony as the only one in the open, sitting so close to the edge that his feet dangled over the water. 

Tony shushed and glared over his shoulder before pulling a fork from the stack of miscellaneous items at his side. He tossed it carelessly into the water. “Woops, I dropped my dinglehopper, silly me - I just have so much stuff sitting here. I think I’m gonna leave it alone and go stretch my legs for a second, as I - a human - am wont to do.”

He pushed off the deck and took himself to the other side of the boat showily, all the while keeping that spot in his sights. 

It was both wonderful and concerning how it only took thirty seconds of waiting for the water to stir, because sure enough it preceded the appearance of merperson Peter with his eyes locked onto the pile of junk. 

_Incredible,_ Tony thought. _If there were a merperson version of me here, I would be slapping this kid. His fins would be nailed to the seafloor._

But since that wasn’t the case… he waved at the waiting seamen hurriedly, mouthing _go, go, go!_

They knew what they were doing and they did it surprisingly quietly: Tony kept his eyes on Peter, heart twinging at how his innocent little face morphed from curiosity to alarm - he only caught sight of the fisherman just in time for them to throw a net over him. 

Tony ran over to them as they heaved on the ropes together, cinching it. 

“We got it!” yelled one in excitement. “I can’t believe this, we actually got it!” 

“I do believe this makes us the richest in town, fellas!” said another. “Soon to be, anyway!”

The group laughed, commotion peaking as they finally yanked the small catch up and onto the deck. Peter was thrashing in his ropes, vibrant red-and-blue tail now a fully visible spectacle and utterly useless against the wooden deck. He twisted around on one elbow so that his wide eyes found Tony, shining with betrayal. 

“Hold still there,” ordered the leader, shoving a heavy boot down on Peter’s shoulders and flattening him to the ground. 

“Hey, hey, hey!” Tony protested, “Get off him, let him breathe for a second--”

He went to push the leader off, to kneel and comfort Peter, to figure out how to right the wrong feeling that was suddenly cinching in his gut, but his arms were grabbed by two other seamen. 

“Thanks for your help, mate,” one said, grinning. 

Then something blunt struck the back of Tony’s head and the world went dark. 

...When he came to, the sun was high in the sky and he was no longer on any ship, but tossed carelessly on the beach. Then realization set in. 

He sat up, rubbing the tender spot on the back of his head and brushing itchy sand out of his hair. “How convoluted _is_ this plot?” he asked aloud, frustrated. “I found him, right? Didn’t that count?”

Evidently it did not. 

The fear about Peter set in as he got up and began dragging himself back toward the docks; fiction or not, his kid didn’t deserve to put through whatever those goons were thinking. 

It didn’t take him long to find their ship since it was one of the only ones still docked, and when he saw it he had to quickly hide himself behind some barrels. A couple of his previous accomplices - the same meaty ones who knocked him out - were standing guard. It was a good sign only because it meant Peter was most likely still on board. The tricky part would be getting past them.

Tony rubbed his mouth in thought, and his eyes fell upon a rowboat loosely tied to the dock. 

Untying it and getting in was easy enough. 

Figuring out how to make it go where he wanted (with some scares where he drifted in the wrong direction) was not so fun. 

But get the hang of it he did because he had adrenaline on his side and no other choice but to bully it into rounding the ship and providing a platform to boost himself onto the ship. He landed heavily on his front and the little rowboat was sent backwards, doomed to become driftwood.

There was a noise nearby. Tony looked up... and immediately his blood boiled.

Peter was there, upright to the height of a man, tied to the mast by thick cords of rope. His arms were held back around the pole, his tail too, but his head turned to look at Tony. A strip of cloth was stuffed in his mouth and through this he made another small noise and wriggled.

“Shh!” Tony hissed, yanking himself upright and holding his hands out. He craned to see if anyone was coming-- Nothing. Even so, Tony stayed down, choosing to walk on his knees toward the kid, and only getting up when they were right in front of one another.

The rope burns on Peter’s arms made Tony scowl. He met Peter’s eyes though and his gaze softened by how scared the kid still was, watching the man with unfettered anxiety. 

Tony whispered, “If I take that thing out of your mouth, you have to stay quiet, okay? I gotta get you down without alerting Thug 1 and Thug 2.”

Peter’s brow furrowed. After a moment he nodded. He worked his jaw around and stuck his tongue out in disgust when the gag was removed.

“There ya go, that can’t have tasted good,” Tony said gently, tossing it aside. A thought occurred and he tilted his head. “You do understand what I’m saying, right, Pete?”

The kid looked at him oddly. “Yeah,” he rasped, blinking. “How do you - do you know me?”

Tony nodded fondly. “Yeah, I do actually-- It’s Tony. ‘Mr. Stark’?”

Peter held the odd look, but didn’t object as Tony began undoing his knots. As he worked he went on softly, “Of course, you would know me and we wouldn’t be here _at all_ if it weren’t for your self-sacrificing hero complex. Is that hypocritical to say? Probably. But you’re supposed to be better than me, kid, that’s why we--”

Suddenly Peter said, “Mr. Stark!”, and the recognition in his voice was everything. 

Tony’s heart lurched at the precious sound he’d missed so much, even as he flinched and checked again to see that no one had heard. Then quickly he untied the last knot and eased the kid down, holding onto his upper arms to look him full in the face.

Peter was blinking rapidly like he’d just woken up and found himself still inside his dream. 

“Wait--” he said as Tony sat him on the deck. He was looking all around, then back and forth from his lower body to Tony’s face in bewilderment. His tail fin flapped and he drew back from it in horror. “Uh, Mr. Stark...I’m a mermaid. What’s going on?”

Tony dropped his hands to his lap. “We’re playing the game of a cosmic being, more or less.” He looked up at the sky. “If I’m being honest, I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do now.”

Peter’s brow furrowed. “What does that mean?”

All at once Morgan Freeman’s voice boomed out as though he were FRIDAY speaking from the ceiling, making both of them jump: 

“Well done! Now we move to the next chapter.” 

Scarlet swaths began to encircle the world.

Peter’s eyes widened, hand reaching for Tony. Tony reached back and barely brushed the kid’s fingers before they were enclosed in light.

… 

_“If you become a fisherman,” said the little bunny, “I will become a rock on the mountain high above you.”_

_“If you become a rock on the mountain high above me,” said his mother, “I will become a mountain climber and I will climb to where you are.”_

... 

Tony opened his eyes and he was surrounded by crowds of people.

“Here we go again,” he sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ps if you liked peter as a mermaid you should check out [Sea Spider](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18099119/chapters/42783710) ... :)
> 
> talk to me on tumblr: [the-reverse-mermaid](https://the-reverse-mermaid.tumblr.com)


	2. rock and mountain climber/ flower and gardener

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The people around him were dressed like peasants from a fairy tale. 
> 
> Another one, Tony thought with a sigh, looking down at his plain attire. Hopefully one he remembered better than The Little Mermaid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: I HAVE NOW INSERTED INTO THIS CHAPTER tHE GORGEOUS FANART MADE OVERNIGHT BY ONE PUNKSGVA ON TUMBLR, ENJOY

The people around him were dressed like peasants from a fairy tale. 

_Another one_ , Tony thought with a sigh, looking down at his plain attire. Hopefully one he remembered better than _The Little Mermaid_.

It was late evening but the crowd seemed lively, talking and laughing with one another as he presumed members of a small village would at some celebration. He gathered that they were in a cobblestone courtyard of some kind with a castle exterior looking ahead and if he squinted, he could make out mountains rising around them. There were cheery yellow lanterns around, adding to the warm night.

A stout woman carrying a tray of baked goods passed near him and Tony put a hand on her arm. "Hey, excuse me," he muttered. "Could you tell me - what's the whole party thing for?"

She smiled wide. "The prince's coronation, of course! Sweet young thing - it will be so nice to see him out in public at last!" Before anything could be said to that, she continued on her way.

"The prince, huh?" Tony muttered to himself, looking around. He had a growing suspicion of where he'd seen this before. What movie he’d seen it in, to be more accurate; a movie that was like crack to toddlers everywhere with Morgan as no exception. If that was the case... 

Suddenly there was an outpouring of light from the castle entrance and exclamations of delight from the people up by the front. 

"Our Prince, there he is!" they called.

Tony's feet were carrying him forward and his arms were pushing past people before he even saw him:

Peter, in a royal teal-and-black suit, his curls tamed back somberly in a way Tony hadn't seen since he first met the kid, stood at the top of the steps with the giant ornate door thrown open behind him.

Tony cupped his mouth and yelled, "Peter!" The problem was, he was just one of hundreds.

Peter blinked at them all in a daze. 

Something over his shoulder made him snap out of it, glancing back in alarm, and then the kid was moving, running down and into the tide of people. 

Tony cursed and pushed people out of the way, doing his best to track the kid's brighter colors. More exclamations of "He’s here! The Prince!" spread as people made way for and pressed in on him at the same time. He wasn't close enough to hear what was happening but he knew that one minute there was a fountain in the center of the courtyard and the next it was crackling into a sharp ice statue. 

The energy of the crowd changed immediately, a shocked hush falling over everything until a yell split the air:

“There he is - stop him!” 

All turned to the source: a short older man who stood in a group by the doorway, pointing at Peter with a glare. He looked strikingly odd to Tony, who knew that he recognized him but only in a computer animated version of reality. This was the unwanted live-action remake, and Tony was forced to be a part of it.

“Please, just - I don't know what's happening,” Peter’s frightened voice carried like a cold shard into Tony's heart. "I need to- where is - "

Tony was able to get the kid in his eyeline just as a beam of blue energy shot out of Peter’s hand and knocked the newcomers off their feet, the ground around them growing slick and sharp with stalagmites of ice. A child started crying. The fallen man yelled out "Monster!" And Peter was looking at his hands in shock, blinking like he had at the end of the last story when he realized this was a sort of dream. 

Then he glanced around, took in the way people were backing away from him in fear, and again he bolted.

"No no no, kid come back!" Tony yelled, beginning to run after him.

At the same time, a female voice called out from behind, "Peter!" It was one Tony recognized but had no time to turn around for. He knew what part of the story this was and it'd be a whole lot easier to catch up with the kid here than on top of a mountain -

\- but that was the point, wasn't it?

By the time Tony stopped at the edge of the slowly solidifying lake, leaning on his knees to catch his breath, he could only track with his eyes as Peter's billowing purple cape got further and further away. The woman - who was in a queenly green dress but unmistakably May Parker - caught up with him and slipped, making Tony lunge to help her.

"The fjord," she gasped, looking at the lake. "It's-"

" _Frozen_ ," Tony said, resigned.

The short old man reminded Tony of a caricature of Ross in a way; power-hungry and spineless.

“My nephew is not a monster,” May was growling.

The obnoxious man shot back, “He nearly killed me!” 

“It was an accident, he - was scared. He didn’t mean it, he didn’t mean any of this!” Peter’s aunt gestured to the snow now gently falling around them, the temperature gradually dropping. Tony was glad that his peasant costume had long sleeves, because he could see the goosebumps rising on her arms from where he stood at her shoulder. 

“Tonight was… I don’t know,” May went on, looking away to the castle with a troubled expression. “He was acting strangely, asking me about someone. I didn’t know what he was talking about, we don’t even know a Mister… Stork?” 

Tony’s eyes widened even as May squared back up against the little man and his posse. “It was my fault, I pushed him, so… I’ll go after him. And you’ll see that he’s _not_ dangerous!” 

“My queen, you can’t!” one of the nicer-dressed folks exclaimed.

“Don’t you tell me what I can and can’t -”

“I’ll get him,” Tony said, raising his hand. 

Several people turned and stared at him, May included, her eyes narrowed in the kind of protective fury that she has for Peter no matter what universe they’re in. He chooses to look only at her. “I’m - a, uh, blacksmith in town. Peter and I have talked a few times. If someone’s gotta go - someone who isn’t in charge of running the kingdom,” he hurried to say when May opened her mouth again. “...then I volunteer. You’re right, he’s not a monster, just a scared kid.”

May’s eyes remained narrowed but her gaze softened. No one else volunteered and everyone seemed to be waiting on her til at last she nodded, to Tony’s relief. 

“Bring me a horse,” she called without breaking eye contact. As the right people hurried to obey, she said lowly, “You have three days before I go myself. Do anything to hurt him and you will _regret it_.”

“I believe you,” Tony assured her honestly, because she’d said essentially the same thing when she found out how he took the kid’s suit way back when, and he did regret that. 

He cautiously took the reins of the horse he was handed a moment later but then looked around in uncertainty. “By the way… there’s not a guy around here who sells ice that I could take with me, is there?” 

And sure enough, there was an ice guy. 

And seeing him nearly made Tony lose his mind, because it was Steve Rogers.

“‘Ice is my life’,” he quoted under his breath, snickering on and off as they rode - Tony on a pale brown horse and Steve on a reindeer named _Bucky -_ through the snow-thick woods. “I can’t, with this. It’s too much.”

“Saw the chance and took it,” whispered the voice of Morgan Freeman, to which Tony glared at the sky, snapping, “Shut up, I still hate you.”

Meanwhile, Steve was nervously watching him out of the corner of his eye, just quietly polite as ever. He cleared his throat. “So... what did you say you do?” 

“I’m a mountain climber, in this part of the story,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. Steve hummed, but a glance at his face showed him looking more deeply confused.

The mountain climb was physically strenuous, but a lot easier with a horse than with nothing. Steve proved helpful for navigating tricky patches. Luckily they did not run into a Josh Gad snowman or Tony would’ve honestly needed to lie down. 

On the climb he thought about how Peter was asking for him, according to May. Did he retain something from their last story incarnation, then? Just enough to be confused into running? 

The thought made him urge his mount a bit faster.

The air got thinner and the ice covering trees and rocks became sharp and jagged like the dangerous thing that Peter had unintentionally made of the castle fountain. It was formed in such a way as though blown from a certain direction, and that was the direction they followed - higher and higher, with breaks here and there to rest the animals. The sky was turning lavender, nearing dusk of the next day when it finally came into view: 

Every child’s dream, made real: an actual Elsa castle. 

Complete with a very slippery-looking suspension bridge over a very deep, dark cavern, which put a damper on the dream at least for Tony.

“Now that’s ice,” Steve breathed, dismounting to admire the view. Rays of the setting sun made the frozen architecture appear glowing.

“Don’t cry or anything,” Tony said, rubbing his hands together - partially for warmth, and partially to dispel nerves. “I’m going in on my own. Hold onto Bucky.”

The French doors opened smoothly for him. There was no one in sight, only an ice rink-like arena that challenged Tony’s balance as he tentatively called out, breath misting in the air before him, “Peter?”

His voice echoed in the large space. Looking around, he couldn’t help but notice there wasn’t even any furniture. And come to think of it, no food. _What was Elsa planning to_ do _here…?_

As for Peter...

A sniffle caught his attention as he turned a corner and Tony’s heart froze when they saw each other.

Peter was not in a Disney-designed ice outfit. He did not look like he’d been singing “Let it Go” recently. Instead, his eyes were bloodshot and his face was pale and flushed in all the wrong places. He was in the same outfit he’d been in before, yet rumpled; his hair messy and curly again like he’d been running his hands through it to dispel the product. He sat like a child, small, with his knees hugged to his chest behind a pillar of ice. 

He was looking at Tony like a ghost who could be either good or evil.

“M-Mr. Stark?” Peter whispered.

Tony moved to come closer, but stopped when Peter pressed himself away; instead he dropped to his knees where he was, placing them nearly at eye level if still a few feet apart. 

“Hey, that’s me,” he said, using just a touch of the child-directed speech he used to engage with his 4-year-old. “What’s up, kid? Things are a little weird around here, huh.”

Peter’s eyes darted Tony up and down. Little stalagmites sprouted from the ice around him, creaking in distress. “You’re dead though… aren’t you dead?” He winced and closed his eyes. “I saw you dying but… not here...”

So, mixed memories this time.

“Ah, okay - not sure exactly what we’re dealing with here, but let me try to explain. Can you look at me, Pete?” 

Tony waited until Peter did, just as a sign that he was mentally present. Then the man offered a brief smile. “You stupid loveable kid. Did you know, you’re the reason I even bothered trying to fix the world? The world that Thanos destroyed, I mean. It wasn’t the same without you in it… and yeah, I knew giving my life was a possibility but you were worth it. In that moment that I put on the bedazzled mitten, I knew you were worth it - and everyone else in the world, of course, but as an accused narcissist I can say that I was mostly thinking of _my_ world.”

He laughed quietly. “And then- then you went and one-upped me! What were you thinking, sacrificing yourself like that?”

Tony meant it rhetorically so it surprised him when the kid answered mournfully, “It _hurt_ with you gone.”

Peter’s eyes were still somewhat trance-like, not all there yet... But the near-lucid response seemed a good sign that they were on the right track.

Tony sniffed. “Yeah, I... I know the feeling.” His eyes trailed up the crystalized walls. “But _this,_ this is a new thing. See, I wasn’t gonna let you get away that easily - so I made a deal with the Reality Stone. It’s a sentient being, turns out. And it’s agreed to let us both live but not without sending us into different ‘realities’ to find one another first; to prove us _worthy_ , as Thor might say, of returning to the real world together. This is our second go. Does that make sense at all?”

When he looked back to the kid, Peter had his thinking face on: head tilted and eyes squinting at the ground. 

“We were on a ship,” he said finally, like a revelation. “And before that -” he looked up sharply, meeting Tony’s worried gaze with clear eyes. He sprung up to his feet as though suddenly brought back to life. “I remember, I - I remember!”

“That’s good news, but explain it to me just so we’re clear,” Tony said.

“I did ask the Stone to bring you back,” Peter said, taking a few agitated steps. “It was - I know you’re probably mad at me for it, but you don’t understand...” He looked down at where Tony still sat, expression anguished. “I heard it, when you died. I heard your heart stop.”

Tony’s stomach dropped. “Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_ ,” Peter said, anger alighting his features for a brief moment. 

While that hung in the air between them, Peter looked down and slowly unfurled his hands, bringing a flurry of fresh snowflakes dancing into the still air.

“Now I’m Elsa,” he stated thoughtfully. 

“Because the Reality Stone is playing a game with us,” Tony repeated half-heartedly (his mind was now stuck on the mental image that was coming back all of a sudden with a vengeance: that of Peter crying, “ _we won, Mr. Stark, you did it_ ”). 

“Got that part,” Peter said, still flexing his fingers. The frost in the air was floating and forming into shapes that looked suspiciously like jedis with sabers, but Tony didn’t comment on it. “I feel like… I’m going between lucid dreaming and dreaming? Like last time I didn’t remember anything till the end but this time I knew something was wrong.” He looked over at Tony with an air of trepidation. “What’s the next one going to be like?”

Tony shook his head. “We’re gonna have to see. I think it resets when we touch.”

Peter’s hands clenched and the snow shapes dispersed. 

Feeling the need to reiterate, Tony murmured, “I meant what I said a moment ago, kid, I… well, I broke science to get you back already. We will get out of this. Disney princess movies aren’t gonna stop me from tracking you down.”

Peter had worn his heart on his sleeve from the day Tony met him and he hadn’t gotten any less expressive since. There was something pure shining in his eyes at Tony’s proclamation. 

And yet: “Not if I find you first,” he muttered with a goofy half-smile. 

“Hmm,” Tony hummed, shifting to drape his hands over his knees. “That so?” 

Peter stood in front of Tony, hesitating only minutely before holding his hands out in offering. “Yes.”

Tony held his gaze, mouth upturned. He slipped his hands into Peter’s and felt the kid’s strength as he was pulled to his feet. 

There was hope. This was just like working on a problem in the lab project, right? Or playing a dumb board game together like they had a few times after Peter found out Tony’d never played some of the Parker favorites? A game of hide and seek, that’s what it was. This was just a new challenge that they were going to have to get through, but one they _could_ get through, together. And then this kid was going to get an earful about who was allowed to sacrifice himself for who. 

The glow in the ice got brighter and brighter until Tony had to shield his eyes.

… 

_“If you become a mountain climber,” said the little bunny, “I will be a flower in a hidden garden.”_

_“If you become a flower in a hidden garden,” said his mother, “I will become a gardener. And I will find you.”_

...

The smell of flowers hit like a wall.

It reminded Tony of his mom; she’d been softer than Howard in many ways and her occupations followed suit. She made music on the piano where he made noise with his inventions. She loved the quiet company of her garden where he loved the praise and attention of the press. Tony, as a combination, had spent a lot of his childhood watching both of them work their respective crafts and though he’d loved his mother’s gentle ministrations in the yard (while Howard criticized her for doing what they could get “the help” to do), he had ended up taking his father’s route of fiery forges and cold computers.

As such he’d never gardened a day in his life. Nor had he spent extensive time in gardens in years. He didn’t even have his phone to look up how to fake it. But right away, that was what he knew he had to do... Mostly because of the grouchy little woman talking at him.

“The area out back by the gazebo is in desperate need of weeding, the last person we had was completely incompetent with that part of the property, and after that I want you to water the planters around the front porch; put mulch down for the sunflowers - the wood chips are in the shed - and if you see any bindweeds, pluck those nasty things out as well -”

Tony nodded, unable to slip in any words if he tried, mostly trying to take in this new reality. 

The little lady had sparse brown hair, a yellow jumper and no qualms about doling out instructions that were going in one ear and out the other for Tony. He himself was dressed in overalls with a plaid work shirt underneath, thick gardener gloves on his hands. The property they stood on was something out of a storybook (ha ha), though not a fairy tale that Tony could identify: a grand white home with faded green shingles and ivy crawling the walls and roof. 

There was a dirt road leading to the driveway but no nearby houses were visible through the considerable foliage of blossoming trees; it felt peaceful and isolated in the way that Tony’s own cabin did. Cicadas chirped, a chubby orange cat lounged in the yard, and somewhere in the distance a brook actually babbled. 

“...and the mistress’ granddaughter will be arriving any minute now, so I’ll be going to check over her quarters and prepare lunch now; get to work then, newbie! Hup hup!”

She clapped her hands at him and then finally stopped talking, turning on her heel and tottering down the stone steps and into the house. 

He blinked. Turned in a slow circle. There were about a _billion_ flowers here, and according to the story, Peter would supposedly be one of them. 

Cracking his neck, Tony took off to follow instructions. Nevermind that he softly called Peter’s name at every other flower.

The sun rose steadily into the blue sky, Tony’s pile of what he hoped were weeds growing as the hours passed. It really was overgrown. Sweat dripped down his nose when he stopped to rest at what he presumed was noon-ish, wandering towards the house and hoping the lady wouldn’t yell at him for getting some water. 

The hum of an engine gave him pause as he neared and when he turned he saw an old automobile making its way up the drive. When it stopped, a gray-haired woman got out of the driver’s side and helped the passenger out: a girl with frizzy brown hair and a tired look on her face. Tony squinted at the latter’s face with recognition - he was pretty sure she had been one of Peter’s decathlon teammates in the real world. So that was a start.

The lady began pulling a trunk out of the car, saying, “You go on inside, Michelle - lunch should be ready in the kitchen.” 

The younger nodded, surveying the yard. Her gaze fell on the orange cat who was pouncing at a tuft of grass, probably after a lizard or something. She picked her way over, reaching out and picking the cat up under its arms. “Hey, Murphy,” she said quietly, laying the cat over her shoulder. She gave Tony an unashamed stare as she passed him and he raised a brow. 

Inside, Tony found what he assumed was a servant’s quarters and that was where his room was - complete with a little kitchen that he could use to make himself something to eat. 

He thought he heard a new male voice in the front lobby and peeked his door open to check. The grouchy lady was talking to a man in a blue cap and a repair company logo on his shirt. 

“This is the outlet?” he asked, setting down some tools.

She nodded. “Yes, it hasn’t worked in years. The house is old but now that we’ve a teenager about, best get these things fixed - not that the young miss will be doing much you know, she’s to have an operation on her heart next week and doctors think the fresh air here will do her well. Can you believe that not even -”

“Oh, this is strange,” he interrupted. He’d unscrewed the outlet cover, but as Tony came closer curiously, he saw what was meant: instead of the expected wires behind the wall, it was hollow - a small passageway as if it were a mouse hole in hiding.

The woman dropped her previous thread immediately, crouching and peering inside. “The little people!” she gasped excitedly.

“The what?” the repair guy asked.

She cleared her throat, straightening. “Nothing. You... wouldn’t happen to know of any good _pest_ _control_ companies in the area, would you?” 

He pulled out a flip phone ( _I’m not in 2023 anymore)_ and began looking one up for her, but Tony left back into the yard after that, storing the interaction for later.

“Pe-terrr,” he called softly as he walked through patches of flowers at the edge of the house. “Peter, where the heck are youuu?”

None of the flowers answered. 

Not that day, or the next, or the one after. 

And in that time, Tony had time to ask _plenty_ of flowers. Every time he crossed paths with the stocky woman, he veered out of her way because he was pretty sure she was ready to chew him out for not actually doing work; though, she seemed inflamed with something else, doing such weird things as setting up mouse traps with sugar cubes in them. Michelle spent a lot of time out in the grass reading. 

He didn’t talk to Michelle, though she sat outside sometimes and didn’t have any problems staring at him suspiciously as he worked.

Then on the third day, the boredom came to a head. Tony would probably be more stressed if the atmosphere of the country home wasn’t so peaceful. As it was, he threw his gloves off in frustration at the south side of the house he’d been scouring for the last hour and had a steady stream of profanity-strewn ranting going under his breath when he saw it:

A movement by the storm drain drew his eye and he froze. 

Suddenly the mutterings of the old lady about “little people” made sense, because climbing the tiny crags in the plaster was a human figure, only about four inches tall. 

“Peter?” Tony said hopefully, drawing near hurriedly. 

The tiny person startled and lost their grip on the wall, crashing into the grass and backing up against the wall as Tony’s shadow fell over them. He paused, watching.

To his dismay, it was not Peter - but it was another person Tony vaguely recognized from the kid’s decathlon team. And the recognition made his nose wrinkle.

“Ugh - Dash? No, that’s not it, it’s - Flash, right?”

The tiny version of Peter’s bully (who inspired the need for the Internship photo Tony now held dear, so hey, maybe he was redeemable) was quaking, eyes popping out in fear. 

“H-h-how do you know my name?” he squeaked.

“Gosh, you’re small,” Tony remarked. Flash screamed and tried to scamper but Tony easily reached down and cupped him in his hands, bringing him up to his face for a closer look. It was a really weird sensation to hold such a tiny living thing; he had to focus not to hold onto him too hard.

The quick beat of bare feet running on grass made Tony turn, and to his surprise, Michelle - who hadn’t spoken to him much before - had approached, panting and gripping her chest.

“You okay?” Tony asked, hiding Tiny Flash behind his back. “I don’t think you’re supposed to -”

“I’m fine. What’s that?” Michelle demanded, cutting him off and pointing to the arm he had hidden. Tony must’ve let something show on his face, because she pressed, “It’s a little person, isn’t it?”

“...Would you believe me if I said no?” Tony said.

“Put me down!” Flash yelled. 

Tony rolled his eyes, but brought his hand forward so the girl could see what - who - he had. She drew near immediately, her eyebrows pinching in concern.

“You knew there were little people around?” Tony asked. 

“That’s not the one from my room,” she whispered to herself, before lifting her eyes to Tony’s and answering. “My mother who grew up here, she told me stories of little people who live in the house. The housekeeper… she’s got it in her head to catch them to be studied like butterflies in a museum or something. You can’t tell her!”

“Uh, wasn’t gonna. Cross my heart. I’m actually… probably… looking for one in particular? I’ve met him before and he’s looking for me, too. I think.”

He held up Flash, who was still yelling and in fact turning to threats of bodily harm, which was rich. “He looks around the age of this one, but less obnoxious. Light brown hair, puppy eyes -”

Flash stopped. “Wait, Peter?”

Both Tony and Michelle turned to him, Tony lifting the hand he was using as a cage. Flash flinched and fell on his butt in Tony’s palm. 

“Peter… Peter might have been the one by my window,” Michelle said thoughtfully. Then she frowned. “Where _is_ he? I haven’t seen him since the first night I was here...”

“Wouldn’t you like to know!” Flash said snobbily. Tony and Michelle looked at one another.

Five minutes later, Tony had Flash by a pincer grasp on the fabric of his small shirt as he dangled and flailed away from the sniffing nose of the cat in Michelle’s arms. 

“Talk or we let him eat you,” Michelle said, and the smile on her face let Tony know that she wasn’t serious... He hoped. That or she was maniacal. 

“You human beings are terrible!” Flash screamed, “That’s why we Borrowers stay hidden - that’s what Peter doesn’t _get_! I don’t know why, I don’t know why he’s so, so - borderline suicidal, if you ask me, trying to be seen and get us all killed - ahhh!” 

He shrieked as the cat brushed its head against him playfully.

“But you know him?” Tony prompted.

Flash twisted around to glare at him. “He’s new. Probably one of those uncivilized loners from the woods who eats _crickets_. He didn’t know the rules of living in a human’s house, that’s why Jason and I had to teach him a lesson.”

Tony drew his arm up and held the tiny person to his face again. “Yeah, not really liking the sound of that, nor am I a fan of the babbling. Answer the question plain and simple: Where. Is. Peter.”

Flash looked a little tremulous now. “We trapped him in a jar in the garden, okay? Just to get him to take this seriously.”

“A jar?” Michelle gasped, letting go of the cat. It traipsed off with a lazy _meow_. “Did you poke holes for him? If you didn’t then he could suffocate!”

Blankly Flash said, “Huh?”

Tony took back his thought of trying to be careful not to squish him. Tightly he said, “When?”

“Uh - uh - last night? Oh gosh, we didn’t mean to kill him! We were gonna go let him out today I promise!”

Tony stood, tiny person gripped tightly. “You’d better show us where he is. Right now.”

Flash’s directions took them back where Tony started: the gazebo at the back of the house. There was a patch of crocus flowers growing through the cracks inside the little building, and nestled within them was a dirty discarded mason jar that had probably held jam at some point but got forgotten and laid here for years. 

And now, it held a small body.

Michelle fell to her knees, hurriedly unscrewing the lid on the jar, and Tony’s mouth was dry as he saw how the tiny Peter slumped against the glass with the movement. As soon as the lid was off, Michelle carefully slid the little figure into a palm, lowering her ear to his chest.

“Is he breathing?” Tony pressed at her side.

Flash’s voice was small from the cobblestones. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry -”

“He’s alive,” Michelle breathed. 

When she pulled back, Tony was relieved to see the kid’s eyes open, blinking blearily and taking them in. His small chest expanded with a deep inhale like a baby bird.

His eyes landed on Tony and he smiled lazily. “Hi, Mr. Stark,” he said.

The sight filled him with fondness, either by its blessed familiarity or the reminder that Peter could really smile in spite of anything. 

“Kid,” Tony greeted. “You alright? Heard you’ve been getting into trouble around here.” As he watched, Peter pushed himself up and blushed when he saw the girl who held him. 

“Oh, hi again,” he squeaked. To Tony he said, “Uh. Yeah, I did. I was looking for you - remembered you’d be here. And like, what’s a little carbon dioxide poisoning to spice up this game thing?” He smiled cheekily, still noticeably taking in new gulps of fresh air with relish. 

Tony hummed dubiously but said, “You’re retaining a bit more, huh?”

“Well I knew it wasn’t real - I wanted to help you find me but…” Peter looked at Michelle, then at Flash, the former with shyness and the latter with annoyance. “I had some trouble in that plan.” 

“I’m… gonna go,” Flash said nervously. “I think the Borrowers in the house will have to move after this…” With that he turned and scampered off into the thick blades of grass. 

And then there were three.

“So...” Tony started, catching Peter’s eye and nodding at Michelle. “Who’s she, huh? Is this a love interest I spy?” 

Peter’s face reddened more deeply and he sputtered.

“Listen, we should probably get going because uh, being this small is... really weird. Like, I almost got eaten by a crow earlier,” he rambled, tugging his shirt and avoiding looking at either of them.

“Okay, okay,” Tony said, smiling unrepentantly. He forgot how much fun it was teasing his kid... he forgot how much he missed this kid in general. Well, more like he pushed the crushing weight of loss down inside himself in favor of trying to keep breathing, but not needing to do that anymore was going to be kinda fun.

Even though it was highly unrealistic and he felt stupid the moment after it popped into his head, Tony couldn’t help but consider how nice it would be to keep Peter this small in order to just… keep him safe at all times. None of that old swinging hundreds of feet in the air, no more getting choked by alien giants that haunt his dreams; just a spot in Tony’s breast pocket. 

Though he supposed Peter was right, for one thing to get them out of here and for another, he needed to be back in their own reality in order for the innocently budding romance between Peter and this girl to develop. 

“May I?” Tony asked Michelle, holding up his cupped hands. Her eyes, bright and analyzing, had clearly judged the exchange between Peter and Tony to be proof of something worthy because she nodded and held her hands up as a bridge. 

Peter crossed it into Tony’s palm and grinned up at him, both nervous and trusting, ready for the sunshine that wrapped around and took them away from one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mondays and fridays? mondays and fridays :)  
> (that second one was based on Secret World of Arrietty, by the way)
> 
> tumblr: [the-reverse-mermaid](https://the-reverse-mermaid.tumblr.com)


	3. bird and tree/ the circus part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is the one where he’s a bird and I’m a tree,” he whispered, and though his voice was quiet, it cut into the dark night with uncomfortable volume. “So… I'm obviously not a tree. He’s probably obviously not a bird in the way he wasn’t a fish or a rock or a flower.”

_“If you are a gardener and find me,” said the little bunny, “I will be a bird and fly away from you.”_

_“If you become a bird and fly away from me,” said his mother, “I will be a tree that you come home to.”_

... 

It was warm and dry, Tony could tell that even from indoors. And the temperature was definitely too high for nighttime - which it was, outside the windows of the yellow-lit living room he found himself in. 

He stood from a ratty armchair and went for a better look, peering past his own reflection to the neighborhood outside. A giant pine tree was firmly rooted in the yard, its needled branches tapping the window. 

“What is there no AC in this - time? Place?” he complained of the heat. He looked away from the window and around the room. With a bit of wandering, he did find the AC and he cranked it. It rattled noisily through the house.

He was the only one there. 

There were two bedrooms, a bathroom and a kitchen; it appeared lived-in and cluttered. What got him were the photos… they were the same ones from his own house, of him and Pepper and Morgan. It gave him an eerie feeling to see his family’s faces here, in the home of a stranger. 

In his chest settled the now-familiar feeling of not knowing what to do, on top of the uneasy atmosphere in the house. The clock showed it to be near midnight.

For all he knew, the Reality Stone might’ve been willing to pick something darker as inspiration.

His nerves were on edge when he stepped out into the yard for a further look around. Brittle grass and fallen pine cones crunched under his feet. In the driveway was a beat-up looking truck (though he’d owned many cars in his life, he couldn’t say he’d ever owned one like that), and peering down the street showed that he had a few neighbors. There was plenty of space between properties for privacy. 

More trees like the one in his own yard were thick behind his house and others, hinting at a forest. Somewhere, a dog barked restlessly.

“This is the one where he’s a bird and I’m a tree,” he whispered, and though his voice was quiet, it cut into the moonless night with uncomfortable volume. “So… I'm obviously not a tree. He’s probably not a bird in the way he wasn’t a fish or a rock or a flower.” 

And yet the riddle was sure to reveal itself. 

The flickering street lights didn’t do much to help lift the darkness in terms of helping him search right now... And if this place worked like the real world, birds wouldn’t come out until morning, anyway. His eyes closed, shoulders dropping tiredly at the thought of finally getting to rest a bit after all the saving the world and, well, other extreme sports he’d been doing… namely following Peter. 

He hoped the kid wouldn’t hate him for going back inside, locating a bed and drifting off to sleep.

Only, even when he got to searching, he had no luck the next day. 

Or the next. Or the next. Or any in the week after.

And soon enough it was nineteen days later with still no sign of the kid.

“You messed up!” he yelled into the starry sky. “You hear me? You mixed up where you put us or something - he’s _not here_!” 

There was no reply from Morgan Freeman. 

Tony had no hope of sleep now, as for the last handful of nights he had nothing but growing anxiety as days ticked by. This place wasn’t scary anymore, it was only scary that he had no idea how long he was doomed to be stranded in it.

The neighbors down the street (Dr. Martinez and her daughter Ella, nice people) had turned their lights off hours ago and even that lone dog in someone’s backyard was quiet. The birds too, and that - that he was sure of, because if he heard a bird noise he would’ve gone running for it at this point, he really would’ve. 

With no apparent prompts or clues to go off of, he had spent the weeks trekking on both beaten paths and gravel-paved roads in the forest around them, scoping out the small town nearby in the Middle of Nowhere, Arizona. He’d talked to people young and old, he’d gone into stores and gift shops, he’d made lists of whatever might fit the storyline in any possible way and searched accordingly. 

And still, instead of finding anything, his days began passing in a fog of decreasing hope.

As far as the pictures in the house went, he kept alternating between turning them down - because he didn’t want to be reminded that he might not see his family again - and staring at them for hours - because they were all he had. Their presence now seemed, in one interpretation, a small mercy of the Stone. That or a mockery.

 _Tomorrow_ , he thought, throwing his hands up and storming inside, a burning in his eyes. _Tomorrow I will take apart that old car, build a suit, and use that to expand my search radius. It can’t end here... We didn’t come this far to only go this far._

He was tossing and turning, weighing the pros and cons of forgetting the illusion of rest and going to start building right this moment, and that’s when he heard it: 

A rustling outside, different from the gentle swaying of tree branches against the windows. 

His heart immediately began beating faster and he jumped up to get a flashlight. 

“...Hello?” he called from the doorway. Nothing was apparent, but he stepped out nonetheless. Cleared his throat. “Hello, is someone out here?”

His flashlight beam fell upon the giant tree, and there where the branches brushed the ground is where he saw a human form, huddled unmovingly in its hiding place. Tony clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from crying out.

Then the light caught the person’s face and he did cry out. 

“ _Peter_?”

Peter was on his side, one hand clutched at his shoulder and stained, to Tony’s horror, with a dried substance that could only be blood. The kid’s eyes were open wide and alert, a deer in headlights. 

Tony immediately drew close, heart pounding ever hader against his ribcage. 

“Kid, _what the_ \- where have you- are you _hurt_? Okay, we, we can fix this, let me just -”

He reached out for contact, all sorts of thoughts running through his head ( _if he dies here, is that it?_ ) - 

\- but Peter surprised him further by flinching back, yelping out, “Stop, stop!” 

Tony froze. 

The boy took a shuddering breath, voice high with repressed pain. He seemed to steady himself, eyes locked on Tony’s and looking more than a little haunted. He wet his lips. “Sorry, I - yes, I’m hurt, but not too bad. Can you just... I just want to spend time with you for a little before we, before we start over again. Please?”

The man hovered, thinking. “I’ll get some gloves,” he finally said.

Without direct contact (or possibly by a glitch from their overseer), Tony was able to help Peter to his feet and get him inside the house without triggering a jump to their next story. 

They stumbled into the bathroom where the kid was quickly propped on the toilet seat, the full extent of his grimy appearance now visible under the bright lights. He was in a muddy windbreaker and jeans, hair wind-tossed and sticking up with twigs and leaves like he’d been rolling in foliage.

“So... wanna tell me where you’ve been?” Tony prompted, digging under the sink for first-aid. “I’ve spent _weeks_ looking for you - this place is as nondescript as an actual freaking postcard - and yet here you pop up out of nowhere looking like you got into all of the excitement for both of us.”

Peter laughed breathily, head leaning against the counter as his gaze followed Tony’s movements. “Uh... well... long story short, I didn’t start out here. I was kinda being chased across the country. And what happened is I got shot - But just grazed I think, don’t worry.” 

Tony snorted without humor. “‘Don’t worry’, he says.” Pulling on his cleaning gloves, he peels back Peter’s hand to reveal the hurt shoulder, earning a hiss from the kid. “Funny, you saying ‘don’t worry’ has tended to have the opposite effect in our history. I’m gonna need to get this jacket off so… Kid, uh… what is this?”

Peter glanced up at the tone change, watching as Tony’s expression morphed to one of bewilderment. 

Because in his windbreaker, stuffed behind Peter’s shoulder, was a lump of feathers.

“Do you happen to know what this page is supposed to be about?” Peter asked meekly instead of answering. “In the bunny story, I mean.”

“One where you’re a bird and I’m a tree. Though I don’t know how -” He stopped, seeing that Peter was nodding.

The kid blew out a breath. “Yeah, it, uh, checks out. That’s my - my wing.”

“...Oh, just your _wing_ ,” Tony agreed after hardly a beat. “Well, looks like your wing took some of the hit too.” 

It wasn’t until the jacket was cut off into ruined piles of fabric on the floor that the extent of what Peter had said became clear - literally, two massive bird wings with brown speckled feathers were tucked against either side of his spine. 

“So help me out, did someone try to hunt you or something?” Tony asked as he started cleaning the wound. “If so, I’m going to have to hunt _them_ after this, you do understand.”

It took Peter a moment too long to process that, laughing weakly again and shutting his eyes in a way that spoke of tiredness beyond sleep deprivation.

“No,” he said. “Well, kind of. I was above… in the air, flying - I can fly - and I was looking for you, ‘cause that’s what I’ve been doing in between running from these FBI government-scientist-people who keep tracking me down. And when I passed over this area I saw a group of people that, like - when I looked a little closer I saw it was actually a smaller kid surrounded by some bigger ones. Like, ya know, a mugging situation.”

Tony hummed, knowing Peter and thus knowing where this was going. 

“It turns out, some kids were gonna beat up their classmate because of something that happened at school - I didn’t really get the details, but it was super lame of them!”

“Super lame,” he conceded fondly.

“I kinda punched one in the face and they didn’t like that. The good news is, the girl got away! Bad news is they had the gun…and way too much free time on their hands. They chased me in the woods for, like, two hours. _Ow_.” 

Tony winced over the first stitch. “Sorry, sorry.” 

They were both quiet for a few moments as the sewing continued, listening to the clock on the bathroom wall tick seconds of the night away. Then softer, Tony repeated, “I’m sorry… I didn’t find you. Believe me, I was trying.”

Peter blinked his eyes open to half-mast. “You did find me,” he said plainly. “I just helped a little, ’s all. You deserve some help… You do so much for me. And everyone. You’re the best, Mis’r Stark.”

“You are drunk tired right now.”

A snort. “Yeah. But it’s truuuue.” 

Tony rolled his eyes. “I’m getting you a glass of orange juice.”

He half expected Peter to have completely conked out by the time he came back with said glass of juice, crackers, and some clean clothes under his arm. But instead the kid was more upright, staring silently at a framed photo from the counter with an unreadable look on his face. 

His attention darted up to Tony as he accepted the juice, and after he’d downed practically the whole thing on one gulp, his first words were, “I forgot you had a kid.”

Tony’s brows furrowed. ‘Kid’ was such a term exclusive to Peter in his mind that he didn’t immediately understand the subject change. He glanced at the photo the kid had been fixated on, one of him and Pepper and - ah, Morgan. 

“Yeah, I do,” he said, smiling softly. He thought of the image he’d longed for ever since he held his little girl in his arms the first time: that of Peter and Morgan together in one room. _Soon_. “Did you meet her?”

Peter stared away at the shower curtains. “I saw her,” he mumbled. “It was kind of - a lot was happening, so I... I didn’t realize she was yours til I saw her room in the cabin. And then it was weird because the fact that she’s, like, not a baby? I guess I didn’t realize… so much time has passed in the real world, hasn’t it. You have more gray in your hair since the last time I saw you. Even though Dr. Strange told us it'd been years, I didn’t really realize it was literal...”

Tony’s chest twinged at the lost feeling in Peter’s voice. He could only imagine what that must be like - in the excitement, it didn’t occur that there could be downsides to saving everyone. 

He cast around for the right response to such a thing... thinking maybe he could try to explain a little about the opposite: five years where everyone felt ripped in half by loss. 

But his gaze lit back on the photo and he got an idea. 

“You know...” he said softly. “Morgan’s middle name is Hope. Because she gave us hope, after the world fell into shambles. But if she’d been a boy - well, we were gonna name her Morgan either way, but if she was a boy we were gonna use Peter as a middle name.”

Peter looked at him sharply, eyes rounding. “What? Why?”

The man frowned back at Peter teasingly. “Why do you think?”

“...Because it’s an easy name to spell?”

Tony bopped him on the head lightly with a package of crackers. “Yes, that’s why,” he said sarcastically, happy to see Peter smile faintly as he snatched the package away. 

More seriously, Tony said, “Actually, it’s more than a nice name. It’s the name of the kid I’d lost, who I’d really cared about.” 

He’d gotten better at being sincere, at being vulnerable, for the sake of connection. And yet it hurt to see Peter’s smile fall away as though Tony had instead scolded him. 

“What, what’d I say?” he asked.

Peter’s eyes flitted to the rug. “That’s really...” he started, biting his lip and brushing absentmindedly at the feathers of his unhurt wing. When Tony just waited patiently, the kid eventually said in a rush, “I just- well, there’s a difference between caring about someone and naming your child after them. The - the name thing is really permanent.” 

Tony couldn’t help it; his voice came out slightly offended as he said slowly, “Pete, are you trying to say - you think I don’t really care about you? Because if that’s the case then please take a look around -”

“No, no!” Peter hurried to interrupt, glancing up with wide eyes. 

Tony closed his mouth, letting Peter say, “That’s not what I - You care, obviously. I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, I just meant you…” He looked back at the photograph. “If you really have a family now then, it’s kind of... true, isn’t it? That your real - um, your kid has a really good thing going, and I feel like I shouldn’t take away from… all that.” 

In spite of the stumbling, Peter said it far too reasonably, as though conveying logic when all that it seemed was nonsense to Tony. 

The man could only blink in disbelief, parsing out whatever Peter was trying not to say in the silence that unfolded after that little speil. When it came together - after all this time, Peter’s tells were the same - he recognized that there was _intimidation_ there. Peter was intimidated by all the ways his mentor might have changed in the five years he’d missed.

And the stupid kid was doing that endearing, heart-wrenching thing he’d _always_ done where he put others ahead of himself, just in case.

“Peter,” he scolded softly, shaking his head. 

“Sorry,” the kid barely breathed.

“No,” Tony said, prompting Peter to meet his eyes again. “Let’s clear this up. I’m not saving you from the Reality Stone just because I feel obligated. I really want you back, back _to stay,_ in my life. It doesn’t matter to me what that will look like now, now that I’m retired and things are a little different from when you left - I know it’s a bit weird. We’ll work through it, okay? I just... I’ve spent too long missing you.” He let that sit a moment before adding, “Heck, I already told you I went to all the trouble of learning time travel for your sake, didn’t I? It wasn’t for ‘Starlord’, I’ll tell you that.” 

Peter snorted, awe overtaking his tone as he repeated, “Time travel?” 

Tony nodded. “Stranger than fiction, I know. All I need you to get right now is that you’re already, well, as important to me as my other kid. Sorry, no take-backs. And she will _love_ you, by the way, because she already likes Spider-Man stories more than Iron Man ones, go figure.” 

“Oh,” Peter whispered, a small smile in the word that showed how closely he would hold Tony’s words to his heart. He drew a deep breath and relaxed. “Okay.”

It was like deja-vu, the blind faith; though he’d become accustomed to it from his toddler, coming from the teen he remembered how new and scary it had been, probably in much the same way that new parents remembered their trial run for other children based on experience with the firstborn. And that’s what he was - Morgan’s predecessor. The kid who’d softened Tony Stark’s edges and pushed past the defenses set up around his heart.

The kid’s eyes sparkled at him, content for now, only to be winked out by a massive yawn. 

Tony pushed the clean clothes into his lap and stood, chuckling. “Glad we had that talk,” he declared, tired now too. “Now take a shower, stinky, it’s way past time for bed.”

It took about thirty minutes of waiting for the kid to emerge, and when he did he nearly gave the man a heart attack. It was one thing to see the feathers peeking around his shoulder - and quite another to see the several-foot wingspan attached like extra limbs to the kid’s bare skin. That was how he entered the guest room as Tony was making up the bed.

Peter said by way of greeting, “I can’t fit these things into a shirt and I’m cold, give me that blanket,” and with that he flopped onto the covers and immediately rolled himself into a large, lumpy blanket burrito. 

Tony just stared as the blanket burrito sighed contentedly, “I love beds, ten out of ten.”

He shook his head fondly. “It’s really more like a six if we’re being generous.” Eager to let the kid get some rest, he started making his way to the door with a teasing, “Goodnight, Spider-Bird.” 

Until, that is, the kid called tentatively, “Wait, Mr. Stark?”

Tony turned back. “Mr. Parker?”

“Um, well... you should stay in here tonight. In case the FBI guys come back.”

The man’s heart softened, even as he pressed, “Oh, should I?”

“Yes.” Matter-of-fact.

And so 1:30AM saw him dragging an air mattress from the closet to the guest bedroom floor, muttering complaints the whole time as though he didn’t delight in Peter’s delight. _The dog-and-pony shows I go to for my kids_. 

And while Peter was out at practically the moment the lights were, Tony couldn’t help watching the kid’s peaceful face for a little longer than that. He considered it making up for lost time - especially the really bad times when all he could think about was the lack of peace in Peter’s last expressions.

Eventually he did sleep though, and luckily no “FBI guys” disturbed their quiet reunion in this hidden pocket of reality.

It was with another pang of guilt for his many rested nights that Tony waited the next morning for Peter to finish catching up on sleep. By the time he stumbled out of the guest room with a hoodie wrapped around him (giant slits sliced through on back for the extra limbs), it was after noon and Tony had made his best meal of pancakes, scrambled eggs and little breakfast sausages - though Pepper often shooed him out of the kitchen, this was one meal he never entirely screwed up.

“How’s the GSW?” Tony asked, pushing a full plate forward as Peter took a seat at the kitchen island. 

Peter stuffed a sausage in his mouth and flexed his shoulder appraisingly, though Tony could hardly keep his eyes off of the wing that unfurled and stretched as well. 

“Fine,” Peter said, adding, “Not that it matters much, since it’ll probably be gone next time ‘round.” 

Tony hummed and leaned his weight on the edge of the counter. “About that - we probably shouldn’t waste too much more time on this one. You should eat, but is there… anything else you want to do first?” Peter looked down in apparent disappointment. “Sorry, bud, it’s just…”

“No, I know,” Peter admitted, looking back up. “Uh, could we… Can we make chocolate chip cookies? From scratch?” 

The man squinted. “You’re literally eating at this moment.”

“Not cookies!”

“Okay fair enough, but you’re assuming that I know how -”

“No, no, _I_ know how.” Peter grinned, cheek puffing out with a mouthful of pancake which he spoke around unrepentantly. “May can do a lot, but some things, living with her... I had to teach myself in order to survive.”

“Repressed memories of walnut date loaf do come to mind,” Tony agreed. Rolling his eyes, he pushed off the counter and said, “Well, these better be the best darn cookies I’ve ever eaten.”

Truth be told, Tony had never made cookies from scratch before - store-packaged dough and boxed mixes were his friends. Peter though, as promised, had the recipe down by heart and ordered Tony around fetching bowls and ingredients from one side of the kitchen while setting to work mixing and sorting at the other. 

“It’s just science, Mr. Stark, aren’t you supposed to be good at science?” he teased when Tony remarked on the absurdity of Peter’s secret talent. 

A brief food fight hindered their progress slightly (Peter won solely because he could flap his freaking wing and send a handful of flour flying back at Tony); but they were both powdery and giggling as they rolled the dough into balls, each of them sneaking way too much raw dough both on their own and by tossing it into one another's mouths. 

When the oven beeped with their first batch, Tony wasn’t even hungry anymore but Peter never ceased to amaze. He hardly let them cool before scarfing at least three down. 

It was after the second batch laid out to cool that the fun came to an abrupt end. 

Peter had just taken off the oven mits and was standing completely still, smiling over at Tony in a moment of silence in between their banter, when - as though pushed from behind by invisible hands - the kid gasped and stumbled forward. 

Out of instinct Tony reached out and caught him under the arms before he could fall.

Peter looked up at him with wide eyes, mouth gaping just before he vanished into thin air. The cookie he’d been holding hit the floor in a splat of still-warm dough. 

Tony stared at it blanky. 

“Now that’s just mean,” was all he got out before he followed the same fate.

… 

_“If you become a tree,” said the little bunny, “I will join the circus and fly away on a flying trapeze.”_

_“If you fly away on a flying trapeze,” said his mother, “I will be a tightrope walker, and I will walk across the air to you.”_

...

“You’re cheating, Tony!”

Tony looked up. 

A man was standing in front of him, and somehow he knew without needing to be told that this was the Reality Stone. Whoever his chosen form was, though, he wasn’t an actor Tony recalled. In spite of this he looked vaguely familiar.

As if in answer to the thought, Reality spread his arms and twirled so that his red suit coat flared, exclaiming, “Look- I’m someone from your past! Or wait, was it the future… I get those mixed up. The Time Stone would know.” He stopped and tipped his top hat playfully. “Doesn’t matter, just call me ‘Mysterio’! Or P.T. Barnum. Technically I’m supposed to be Hugh Jackman, but why not move everything a bit to the left, hm?”

“Uh…” Tony tried, looking around. He could see nothing but darkness beyond the bright circle of light that they stood in. The floor was dirt.

“Eyes here, Tony,” Reality snapped. “As I said you’ve been _cheating_ . Having conversations with him about what’s going on, spending all that time together in the _Maximum Ride_ storyline -”

“What are you talking about,” Tony said in annoyance. 

“- So I’m going to cheat a little here, too.” The man pulled a cane from thin air and struck it into the ground. “Consider this the Boss Level. Oh, and… enjoy the show.”

The wide smile he was given sent shivers racing up Tony’s arms. He jumped when, out of the darkness all around them, there was a thunderous synchronized stomping. Figures converged out of the dark, other spotlights illuminating their odd shapes and sizes. Tony backed away as the stomps came again, and this time Reality shifted stances, singing out,

_“Ladies and gents, this is the moment you’ve waited for.”_

It was like the muted volume on a TV had suddenly been turned to max: invisible cheers and sourceless music met the declaration.

Tony flinched at the sudden noise and then he was stumbling, plunged into chaos - a horse trotted past him, a figure on stilts stepped over his head, a ring of fire lit up on his left, movement filled the dark on every side including from the rafters - and all the while Reality was standing still in his spotlight like the eye of the hurricane, getting further as Tony was pushed around.

_“...taking your breath, stealing your mind, and all that was real is left behind...”_

He gasped and spun to face a ghostly albino woman as he collided into her. He was pretty sure of what movie they were in except that her and other dancers’ faces were not excited or even happy - they were neutral, almost miserable-looking. The energy of the crowd was not pure but hungry. 

“Sorry - sorry,” he muttered. Finally he could see an exit from the circus ring and he threw himself toward it, clinging to the barrier separating the audience from the performers with wide eyes. The sensory-overwhelming song hit its conclusion and the arena cleared. 

Reality was lifted into the air by the trunks of two jewelled elephants. His gaze cut through the noise and fell right onto Tony. He smirked.

“And now, the one you’ve been waiting for... The Amazing _Spider-Man_!”

 _Hungry cheers_.

“Kid?” Tony whispered, eyes searching the rafters instinctively. Then there he was:

Spider-Man’s silhouette cut out against the air by a spotlight following him was such a familiar, nostalgia-inducing image that Tony felt nauseated for a moment as he watched the hero that used to grace the skyline of New York swing widely around the space. It was like an image from an old YouTube video, one of the ones Tony had watched over and over again on sleepless nights just to torture himself.

The kid was even in his classic suit, the first thing Tony designed for the vigilante he’d recruited from Queens so long ago, but somehow he had the feeling it was more costume than protection. Surely enough the kid landed in a crouch at the apex of the arena, a less-than-sturdy-looking tower set about 20 feet in the air, and he could see that it was simple fabric. 

He craned his neck in surprise as the boy reached up and pulled the mask off his head, eliciting greater noise from the crowd. 

Something was wrong.

Peter’s face was... empty. 

He stared into space as though dissociating, unaware of the people reaching and calling for him down below - unaware of Tony looking up. As all watched, he simply went about his routine, which at that moment transitioned from the trapeze to the tightrope. 

Tony’s galloping heart made it feel like _he_ was the one in peril, the lack of parachute at the kid’s disposal ever in his mind - and even so Spider-Man didn’t hold back, tilting his weight back and forth and at one point pretending to fall so he could swing right back around on his sticky toes. At the last few feet he up and _did a handstand_ , finishing out on his hands. Tony was gripping his chest by the time he bowed, unable to even rest as the kid turned around and did it again.

It was practically a relief to hear Reality call again, “And that was the Amazing Spider-Man, ladies and gentlemen!” though many in the crowd booed and whined at the end of the show.

The next act caught their attention away easily enough, but as for Tony - he kept his eyes on the red figure that swung back into the shadows of the room, landing unnoticed by the far wall and exiting out a tent flap labeled “circus personnel only”. 

Tony narrowed his eyes. 

He didn’t dare try crossing through the ring, but as far as the audience’s bleachers sectioned off, there was no way to get to where he’d seen the kid leave; there was only one way out, and it was a giant entrance flap guarded by a heavy-set man with his arms crossed who in no way looked like he enjoyed the circus. Tony’s approach made him barely lower his stormy gaze threateningly.

“Uh, hi,” Tony tried. “I’d like to dip out. Just - don’t mind me, just gotta use the restrooms -”

Gorilla Man moved into his path with speed Tony wouldn't have thought possible. He pointed to a fancily-scripted sign at his left: “To avoid interruptions, there are to be no exits during the performance.”

“Seems unethical,” Tony mused, backing away from the man as though he were a bull ready to charge. “But, uh, don’t let me keep you from doing your dayjob, I guess.”

And so it was that he sat miserably through the remainder of the show. Every actor was the same as the albino woman and, come to think of it, Peter: miserable-looking, emotionless. He traded his attention between puzzling that out and staring at the only truly entertained-looking face in the room, that of the Reality Stone from his various perches. He laughed and clapped at every act, until finally he was announcing _to his deepest sympathies_ that they reached the end of their time together, and to _come back again soon - the circus will be in town for the rest of this week only!_

The tide of circus-goers pressed and pulled at him on their way out but Tony managed to duck under the seating stands when the Gorilla Man’s head was turned, and there he stayed, hardly daring to breathe until the sounds of the tent had long since died down to silence. 

Or, as silent as it got, when there were clearly things going on outside - vintage cars honking, horses clattering, foot traffic and talking and circus employees yelling about the sale of tickets.

All the same he was fairly sure that the arena was cleared, and luckily it was when he peeked out of his hiding pace. The silhouette of the Gorilla Man could be seen on the other side of the flap and so Tony tiptoed hurriedly out of the stands and across the emptied dirt clearing.

The flap Peter had disappeared into earlier turned out to hold a passageway behind it - a sort-of tunnel made from the tent into an actual wooden building that must be rented out to the circus folk for their stay. With no one in sight, he continued through it and into a building with many hallways and rooms.

“Peter?” he dared to whisper-call, peering into the nearest room. 

It held no Peter, only a bearded woman who sat staring at her reflection in a vanity mirror. Tony ducked away before she could glimpse him and scream, or something.

Room to room he went, finding various animals in illegal cages and sad-looking performers in various stages of unwinding. Up a grand staircase and in the first room on the left, he finally found what he was looking for. The door was shut and locked, and if that wasn’t a clue then Tony didn’t know what was. 

He knocked as loudly as he dared, to no answer. Looking around, he shook his hands out nervously and let out a quiet “ah-ha” at a loose screw by the baseboard not far away. This he snatched and held to eye level appraisingly. It would do. 

And once the door was popped open, Tony had to admit he was wondering why Reality seemed to think this would be a harder “level” than the ones prior. Because there Peter was, still in his suit and propped stoically on a cot against the wall in the small room as though waiting.

“Hey, bud,” Tony smiled, pocketing the screw and stepping over the threshold. “You ready to -”

“Guards! Guards, come quick!”

The cry made Tony jump out of his skin. “Dear lord,” he gasped, swiveling to look at the man - Reality himself - who was lounging in the corner of the room. “You really don’t give a guy any warning, do you?”

Footsteps pounded up the staircase at his back and Tony looked from Reality, to over his shoulder, to back at Peter. 

He lunged.

His fingers barely brushed the kid’s airspace before he was hauled back, gripped on either arm by two thugs who had definitely gotten there with supernatural speed considering he hadn’t seen them on his way up. He strained with all of his 5 feet 7 inches, cursing as the men easily grappled him to his knees.

All the while Peter sat.

“Kid!” Tony gasped. “Kid, come on, we gotta go!”

“This man is obsessed with my performer,” Reality tutted, strolling to Peter’s side. “I want him removed from the property and kept away from any future shows.” 

“Yes, sir,” said one of the thugs.

“Good.” Reality nodded down at Tony, a quiet smile on his face, and for a moment his eyes flared red. Tony looked in bewilderment from him to Peter and a shock went down his spine.

Peter’s eyes were swimming in the same red color, almost as though Wanda were nearby, and immediately Tony recognized that feeling of being underwater trapped in your own head, dreaming and awake. It occurred to him then that he hoped none of this was retainable as trauma for later, because that’d be just what they needed on top of everything.

“Thought I’d let him sit this one out,” the showman whispered slyly. “No cheating.”

And then Tony was being hauled backwards, out of the room and out of the building and none of his yelling for Peter to snap out of it did him any good. 

They left him in the dirt, with a friendly punch to the gut keeping him there when he tried to go right back in.

In classic New-York fashion, even over a century earlier than the one Tony knew, not a person stopped to notice him. The city continued to move, people stepping over him. And only when he managed to drag himself to the gutter and sit up did the situation dawn on him like storm clouds gathering overhead:

He had nothing but the old-timey clothes on his back. 

Peter was out for the count.

The circus was leaving town in a few days.

And to top it all off, it looked like it was about to rain.

“Nice,” he muttered, pulling the loose screw from his pocket and chucking it into the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do you think Tony will get them out of this? :O
> 
> This fic is just a promo for my other wips :) If you like where the circus thing is going, you might try out the one i promise i AM going to finish called [will you catch me, if i should fall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15993209/chapters/37312922)
> 
> talk to me on tumblr: [the-reverse-mermaid](https://the-reverse-mermaid.tumblr.com)


	4. the circus part 2/ catch you in my arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I love that kid,” he said forcefully. “I love him, and you know I do because I died for him. What else do you want from me, huh?”
> 
> “True, you did die for him,” Reality mused, looking him over. “But then again... I’ve heard it’s much easier to die for someone than it is to live for them.”

In a massive reversal of his upbringing, that week Tony found himself both homeless and jobless. 

Unless the day before counted, when he’d spent the night at the town jail - somehow his argument of, “ _No, sir, I wasn’t loitering, I was just trying to get to my pseudo son who has been imprisoned by a dickhead pretending to be P.T. Barnum”_ hadn’t seemed to land well. 

Of course he’d also informed them that none of this was real including them and their meaningless lives, and that wasn’t a ticket to popularity either - he’d heard a few people already referring to him as “the town loon”, some occasionally tossing him bread rolls and things out of pity. His scruffy, unwashed state surely added to the image. But well, the truth hurt.

And speaking of hurt... his body ached from all the times he’d been thrown in the street. No matter how many times he snuck into the circus or the performers’ hotel, a guard or guards appeared and escorted him out before he found Peter. Security manned the doors at every performance including his good old friend Gorilla Man. The same man was glaring at him now from where Tony sat on some steps across the street from the tent - the closest he could get now - nursing his pride in a moment of existential crisis.

“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight is your last chance to see Barnum and Co.’s greatest show on Earth! Yes, Barnum’s American Museum is setting sail for London tomorrow morning and this is your last chance to glimpse the world’s most unique persons and curiosities, including our Amazing Spider-Man!”

Over and over, the voice piped the same announcement. Beside the ordinary newspaper stands in the street, a circus scout solicited foot traffic with fliers directing them to the ticket booth. To Tony it was a warning bell: _Your time is running out. Your time is running out._

His stomach growled in interruption.

“Shut up,” he muttered. “You can eat when things go back to normal.”

In actuality, he didn’t think he’d been so hungry in his life - even with the charity and the bit of stealing he did on the side. 

A cheerful voice in the street made him look up and there, strolling along the sidewalk in his red-coated glory, was Reality-slash-Barnum-slash-whoever, humming, “ _\- don’t you know that I’m okay with this up-town part I get to play_ \- ”

“Oh, I'm sure you are,” Tony glowered, giving the man pause. “You lovin’ this? Getting your kicks out of ruining my retirement? Or how about ripping off desperate kids.”

Reality tutted, swinging his staff behind his shoulders casually. “Tony, Tony, Tony,” he said. “I don’t want to torture either of you, my goodness - I just want what I _said_. I want you to show me what you’re willing to do for him.”

Tony stood abruptly, ignoring the spots that punished his vision. 

“I love that kid,” he said forcefully. “I love him, and you _know_ I do because I died for him. What else do you want from me, huh?”

The showman swung his cane out so that its tip rested on the center of Tony’s chest, preventing him from advancing in anger.

“True, you did die for him,” Reality mused, looking him over. “But then again... I’ve heard it’s much easier to die for someone than it is to _live_ for them.” 

Then in total non sequitur, he added, “I’d recommend the potato stand around the corner.” With a wink, he left Tony alone once more.

Tony heaved an exhale, his posture slumping. 

He hated to take the advice of dickheads in general, but that felt pointedly like a pity tip. So he glared until the guy was out of sight, then dipped around the corner to find this acclaimed potato stand.

Two dirty bare feet were kicked up on the table next to the produce, though, so he didn’t know how acclaimed it could be. Following them back to the bored-looking kid manning the table, Tony’s face lit up. “Harley! That you, bud?”

The young man was around the age Tony remembered him being when they last caught up with each other around a year ago in the real world - technically 19 or 20 and in college now, but his face was still a bit rounded in clear resemblance of the audacious little squirt who’d both helped him tremendously in a time of need and introduced him to the world of children being something loveable. 

True to form, Harley lowered the paper he was reading and squinted at Tony flippantly. “Aren’t you the town loon? Have you been up-to-date on your medications?”

Tony leaned his hands on the table, snorting fondly. “Okay, sure, back with that bit. I have a better question: have you got a sandwich for me yet? I’m gonna sit.”

The boy shrugged, watching as the man snagged an empty chair and sat next to him. He raised an eyebrow when Tony just looked at him. “What do you want.”

“I want to get into the circus tonight,” Tony said. “You been?”

“Does it look like I’m making bank with these potatoes, dude?” Harley asked in blatant anachronism, gesturing to his stand. “If I wasted my money on some smoke and mirrors, I’d end up like you, living on the street.”

He flipped a page of his newspaper irritably but Tony waited and sure enough the kid muttered after a moment, “Yeah, I’ve snuck in a couple times. It’s alright.”

Tony smirked, thinking of the engineering major Harley was in real life. “The physics of it is interesting, isn’t it.”

“I feel like they could use more, though - Like, they should have a mechanic character who can build crazy stuff out of nothing, ya know? _That_ , I would actually pay to see.”

It felt like the world’s most obvious epiphany. 

_You’re a mechanic, right? Why don’t you just - build something?_

Slowly, ideas forming, Tony said, “I’m interested in becoming a circus artist myself.”

Harley laughed doubtfully. “You and _what_ skills?”

“Oh, I’ve got skills to pay the bills,” he informed. “Just not the... tools. You seem like the crafty type, why don’t we make a deal - You help me find some parts and get me into the show tonight, and in return I’ll give you... the glory.”

The boy twisted his mouth to the side.

“I mean, at the very least it’ll cure some of your boredom,” Tony added. “You might even get to see me fall to my death.”

Harley’s face broke into an impish grin, child of chaos that he was. “Deal.”

The mid-1800s were predictably far less profitable than even a Home Depot in the middle of nowhere but even if it had been awhile since Tony pieced something together out of scraps, it was the sort of skill set ingrained into him by too many life-or-death situations for him to forget. Especially when the seconds were ticking down like so many grains of sand in an hourglass and Tony could see by the time night fell that large shipping crates and vehicles were already waiting around the circus building for such packing-and-shipping as promised to come in the morning - but only if Tony failed.

Tony could not fail this.

His heart had been palpitating with misfiring nerves for the past hour, based on how the makeshift things he’d built in record time were hardly finished and ready to make a go of it before the show began. There wasn’t even time to perform a proper test flight.

As expected Harley gained a lot more interest in the project as it was built and it was with genuine enthusiasm that he snuck them in through his aforementioned hidden entrance - a hidden flap cut to blend in with the exterior pattern of the tent. 

“Good luck,” he yelled over the sound of the music and chatter beating the air all around, throwing finger guns Tony’s way before he scrambled up the stands. 

The man shook his head, seating himself closer to the base of the arena. 

He made sure to tilt his face under the brim of his hat whenever anyone looked his way, drumming his knees and fiddling with the devices hidden under his wrist sleeves until finally, the lights over the crowd dimmed and the show began with another of its ground-shaking tunes.

_“ - you’re just a dead man walkin’, thinkin’ that’s your only option - ”_

Tony looked up, his breath catching in his chest as he saw one important figure entangled with the rest flying around on stage. Tony again thought of the last time he’d seen that figure, in a grainy YouTube video, and then of the first time - also in a grainy YouTube video, but with no idea how much the kid under the mask would eventually mean to him.

_“ - when the world becomes a fantasy, and you’re more than you could ever be - ”_

He thought of the first time Peter stayed over late and fell asleep in on a lab night - the time he’d never tell anyone about, not even the kid, because as he was helping him to bed and turning out the lights he heard Peter mumble, half-asleep, “‘ _Night, Dad_.” He remembered Morgan learning to talk and saying the same phrase years later - afterwards, he had cried himself to sleep.

_“ - and you know you can’t go back again, to the world that you were livin’ in - ”_

He thought of the recurring nightmares he’d developed over the span of the last few years, starting with his first day back, the first day after he’d confessed like the worst sin stained on his soul, _“I lost the kid._ ” He’d yelled himself into unconsciousness and woken to learn that the woman on fire and the remainder of their broken team were on a mission to find and kill Thanos. Even before they came back with news of failure, he dreamed of them returning with the stones, using them to bring everyone back - and everyone would come back except for Peter. It was a dream he’d started having again since Scott Lang showed up on his doorstep.

He wasn’t going to have another one.

 _“Come one, come all, come in, come on -_ Come alive!”

Tony bolted.

He practically vaulted over the divider between the seating and the stage.

There was no need for the ringmaster to call the beginning of The Amazing Spider-Man act, because the song had not even concluded before actors and animals alike were clearing away to make room for the red-and-blue figure taking center stage with his aerobatics. 

With a rush in his ears blocking out the sound of security guards yelling at him, Tony latched onto the ladder of the trapeze and began to climb. Distantly people were gasping and pointing at him but a glance upward confirmed that the show did indeed go on.

His stomach dropped when one of the rungs broke out under his weight - he only had a moment to hold onto the frame for dear life before pressing up. Wasn’t this thing 20 feet? Why did it feel like it was growing taller? When he chanced a look down he felt the blood drain from his face - the ground was definitely more than 50 feet below.

Suffice to say he was panting when he finally dragged himself to the topmost platform.

Shouts made him look down again - Gorilla Man, once again exhibiting surprising speed, was on his way up behind him, murder in his expression. Tony gulped.

“I am - too old for this,” he decided. Throwing a look around, he found Spider-Man lighting atop the other end of the arena-long tightrope. Once again he tore off his mask and bowed, turning to face the rope with faraway eyes.

“Kid, over here!” Tony tried, waving his arms - Yet even as Peter began his dramatic trek across the rope, Gorilla Man was gaining from below and Tony knew it was now or never.

Rolling back his sleeves, he pulled the bare-bone flight stabilizers over his hands so that they lit to life - clunky and unsure as Peter’s original junkyard web-shooters. 

Then he stepped into open air.

He felt thrown back to the first test flight he’d ever done so long ago, the same dangerous forces of gravity and thrust toying with him. It was working, though - he floated millimeters above the rope even as he walked with his toes brushing it for guidance. Behind him, security yelled; below him, people crowed at the sensation; somewhere, Harley laughed. 

And in front of him, framed by lights, was Peter - much surer in his footing. All else suspended so that it was just him and Peter, walking toward one another in the air.

They were feet apart now.

Tony laughed in disbelief. 

He was watching Peter’s face when he saw it: the kid blinked, then blinked rapidly, halting and without warning - expression struck back into him like lightning, slamming back into himself. He looked down and his eyes went wide. Tony’s excitement jolted with dread.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh--” Peter gasped, stumbling back on the rope with far less grace than seconds before, arms flailing out. “What? What’s--”

“Pete!” Tony yelled.

Peter’s brown-again eyes found his and they were bright with fear. “M-mister Stark?”

“I’m here, I’m coming,” he promised, hurrying his steps as much as he dared. But it wasn’t enough - the rope was swaying now, and time slowed down as Peter tilted too far backward --

\-- and then with a scream he was falling.

Tony dove after.

“ _Okay, okay, we can do this_!” he yelled through gritted teeth, voice snatched away by the rush of wind and things blurring by. He engaged his thrusters in favor of gravity, knowing that they were not strong enough to slow a descent like this and so his only hope would be to get them out of there _before_ they became pancakes. 

Peter reached out towards him and Tony closed the distance before reaching back. 

First their fingers wrapped together - then Tony yanked his kid into a protective hug, and their impact shattered the floor into fragments of dancing light. 

… 

_“If you become a tightrope walker and walk across the air,” said the little bunny, “I will become a little boy and run into a house.”_

_“If you become a little boy and run into a house,” said the mother bunny, “I will become your mother and catch you in my arms and hug you.”_

… 

… 

… 

Peter got lost a lot when he was small.

It wasn’t that he was purposefully running away, because he loved his mom and dad and never had any reason to want that; nor were they negligent parents who left him unattended for long periods of time. He was an energetic child though, and they had their hands full. Once around age five he’d been particularly rowdy before bedtime after a long day of being rowdy, driving Mary to ask with both affection and exasperation (and maybe a touch of envy): “Peter, where do you get all your energy from?” 

As the story went, he had paused at the question, thinking seriously before saying matter-of-factly, “Mommy, I have a heart.” 

The Parkers loved their son; so no, it wasn’t their fault he got away sometimes. 

He just had what Richard referred to as “butterflies in his brain” - meaning he got distracted easily. Maybe it was because everything towering over his 3 feet 4 inches made it hard to focus, or maybe it didn’t matter where they lived because he had an innate curiosity that drove his teachers crazy, but either way he saw the stars and the bugs and the people the same: all worthy of fascination. 

And so there was more than one time he’d had his name called over the intercom at the shopping mall; there was that Labor Day when a beach-wide search was held for his sake; and even the time his parents tried fitting him with a child leash at the park, only for them to throw it out the next day because of how his lip had wobbled and eyes filled when he couldn’t follow a line of baby ducklings to the pond. 

His spirit was dampened some when his parents were the ones who got lost. 

After being separated all the times before, he didn’t understand why people said they wouldn’t be coming to find him, this time. And he thought that meant it was his fault - he’d caused them too much trouble with his wandering... so for a while he held his head down and he held his aunt’s hand and he shuttered the light in his eyes. 

His aunt and uncle didn’t realize how serious this was until one of them would go to the store and the other spent twenty minutes or so trying to calm Peter down from panic-induced asthma attacks. It was much easier to keep track of him now, what with the separation anxiety from hell. Therapy helped some with that… Ben and May scraped together the money for it, because their hearts broke seeing him.

Slowly he healed. His curiosity returned. And he started straying again - but never so far that he lost sight of his caretakers. 

The people who loved him became tethers from then on.

Peter was not sure why these old memories were running through his mind when he opened his eyes and found himself, inexplicably, in the middle of Central Park on a beautiful spring day. But as it was, he let them take their time before brushing them away and looking around.

Like his previous experience of this never-ending dreamscape, it felt so real even if he knew in the back of his mind that it wasn’t - that this was all a well-orchestrated hallucination, according to Mr. Stark. Yet the sun still warmed him, the wind still toyed at his bangs. He pinched a blade of grass between his fingers and stood.

With the other incarnations… there were these vestiges of a life in his head. In the first he had actually believed himself to have been a merperson his whole life. In the second, he recalled hiding his ice powers since childhood; in the third he was not surprised to be 4 inches tall and in the fourth he knew of something called The School where he had been genetically engineered with bird DNA. Even if, of course, none of that actually happened - It had felt like stepping into a role that, maybe somewhere in the multiverse, a version of him did actually lived full-time. As he’d said, the best way to describe it was lucid dreaming. 

The last one was a lot fuzzier… he was a circus performer? But what actually happened? Maybe the gap was why he felt so lost now. Besides his memories of getting lost as a child, and knowing above all else that he needed to find Mr. Stark, his mind was clear of things not his own. 

He sighed and pushed his glasses up.

And he started walking. 

Realistically, he’d always been told that if he got lost, he was to stay put until he was found. He didn’t particularly like that rule, since not being able to sit still was what got him into trouble in the first place. Peter didn’t mean to be so much trouble to people. He just… had a heart, like he said. There was too much to love and not enough time. Maybe that was why Spider-Man was such an outlet for him - he got to do whatever he wanted in the suit and nobody needed to worry about him. Well, before Mr. Stark, that was.

As he crossed over Bow Bridge, he noticed a couple staring at the water who kept shooting glances his way and whispering. He hurried his steps, making for the outdoor mall. 

When Mr. Stark came into his life, it was like… well, first it was like being caught with his hand in a cookie jar; he was sure he was going to be told to stop, and after Ben he knew he just couldn’t. But that wasn’t what Mr. Stark came to do at all; maybe his hero related with the need to get lost on purpose sometimes, because he turned out to be wickedly enabling. There was suddenly someone who understood. 

He passed by the movie theater, which out of the corner of his eye was ticking a strange announcement in red letters: _Fan Favorite Now Showing: Bio!Dad AU_. Again, he noticed a few people staring at him and one even approached with concern in her eyes, asking, “Honey, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, ma’am, thank you,” he said, voice high, and he pretty much ruined the polite words by running away from her, kicking up dust with his muddy light-up sneakers.

He reached 65th Street and stopped to pant, resting his hands on his knees a little before pushing his glasses up again and heading East.

Even as he helped, Mr. Stark put a tracker in his suit and he seemed to take a step back after Germany, realizing maybe how young and breakable this “kid” actually was. It was out of care, Peter could see that now, but it had hurt to think even briefly that he drove someone else away. There was that integral separation anxiety after all. He tried not to cling, but he loved his mentor and he really felt bad about how he acted in his final moments.

He’d found somewhere - someone with whom he actually wanted to stay and all he could do was cry, ‘I don’t want to go.’

The sun was going down slowly but surely, and he knew he didn’t have the time or energy to go many more miles by foot, so Peter took himself to the familiar subway station and slipped among the people heading North. People continued to stare at him so he rested his head on the window and closed his eyes. 

He was sure he didn’t ride for that long, but somehow it was dark when he got off and the underground station was deserted, lit in an unfriendly yellow. He made a stop at the restroom and on his way out, a shock not unlike his spider sense went down his spine in warning and he ducked out from under a pair of hands that tried to grab him. He ran again, not looking back until he was back above ground and several blocks away. 

The emblem he’d associated with fond feelings since childhood reared above him like a lighthouse proclaiming safety. He shuddered, hurrying inside the ground floor and feeling relieved to get out of the sudden cold sweeping through the city. Nobody was in the lobby; and nobody stared or questioned him now, not even security. 

In the elevator, he stood on his tiptoes to press the button at the top. As floors ticked by, he sat, legs tired. Idly he played with poking his tongue between the gap in his front teeth. 

Something occurred to him: in psychology class his freshman year, they’d briefly covered something called Attachment Theory. Child development people studied it but it also translated to how a person formed any kind of relationship in their life after childhood. It went that a person needed a secure base, like the base in a game of tag, and that role was usually filled by a parent or teacher or significant other. The more secure the attachment relationship, the more safe that person felt to explore the world and grow into their independence. 

Peter didn’t consider his childhood an especially fortunate one, but maybe - going by the theory - he had become the wanderer he was because he always had good people to return to. And in that way, he was pretty lucky…no matter how many times he got lost.

At least now he knew for sure: Mr. Stark would always be happy to find him. The thought made him laugh, a tired, happy thing. Yeah, Mr. Stark was a pretty secure base. 

The elevator doors dinged open, and in the seemingly deserted building Peter finally heard a voice:

“I want him found, you hear me? ...Yes, I understand that it hasn’t been 24 hours yet, chief, but what you don’t seem to understand is that that’s my _son_ out there… You want to talk about resources? I’ll double the department’s budget for a month if I have to, just _please_ \- ” His voice broke, revealing the anguish beneath the anger. “Please… Peter is _important_ …”

Tentatively, Peter stepped into the light of the room. Hands twisting in the hem of his Ninja Turtle shirt, he cleared his throat lightly.

Mr. Stark spun, red-rimmed eyes latching onto the boy in a heartbeat. The phone dropped out of his hand, clattering on the floor.

“Peter,” he breathed, rushing forward and dropping to his knees. “Oh, thank God.”

It hit Peter all at once that the way his head fit softly under the man’s chin, the way his whole body got caught in the man’s arms - this was not normal. Not to say the hold wasn’t one of the safest places he could remember being, but still.

“Mr. Stark?” he asked, pulling away, confusion surely showing.

Mr. Stark looked at him oddly at the name, though his eyes still held such relief that he seemed to need a moment to get through it all. He took Peter’s face in his hands. “What, baby?”

“Uh… a-are you okay?”

Something seemed to unfold in Mr. Stark’s face as they were staring at one another. First confused, but then - Peter thought he recognized it: it was waking up. Like when he’d woken up from the dream of being a mermaid, what felt like long ago but probably existed outside of time altogether. It was when Peter realized… he didn’t come with a false world in his head this time around, but _Mr. Stark_ seemed to have. 

He released Peter’s face all at once, blinking.

“Oh,” the man said, hand meeting his forehead. “Oh, hi. That was - that was…” 

“Tell me about it,” Peter agreed.

Affection bled back into Mr. Stark’s voice as he swept his eyes up Peter. “Aw, Underoos… look at you. You’re mini. You could be Morgan’s twin.”

Peter sighed, finally acknowledging his appearance in the mirror hung nearby - it was like looking into a photo album from his childhood, because that’s what he saw: a five-year-old child. He wrinkled his nose, turning away and pushing his glasses up a third and final time.

“Aren’t we supposed to be out of here, now?” he asked pointedly.

Mr. Stark laughed, sweeping them into another hug that made the world disappear. 

... 

...

...

_“Guys, I love a happy ending.”_

The voice startled them both awake. A ceiling stuck with star stickers swam into view.

Peter sat bolt upright first, his voice choking as he said, “ _Beyonce_?”

And there they were again, in Morgan’s bedroom… only this time, there were two of them on the bed. It was no longer a game of one or the other.

Tony, for one, continued to lay there a moment just rubbing at his face with both fists and regaining his bearings on what was real and what was not. 

When he uncovered his eyes again he saw Peter on his right, twisted around and looking down at him with wide eyes. The kid looked ready to burst. 

What came out first was, “Mr. Stark, your arm… is that from the - the gauntlet thingy?”

Sure enough the scars that had originally startled Tony were back, crawling up his right arm like vines. He stared at them blankly for half a second before a smile grew on his face because - well, if that was back… that just reinforced that they had done it. 

He started to push himself up, groaning slightly at the use of core muscles that weren’t all that they once were. Peter didn’t hesitate to grab his hand and yank him upright with all that spider strength.

“Okay,” Tony said, startled. But the kid was already moving on to the next thing.

“Mr. Stark, _Mr. Stark_ ,” he said in a hushed voice, eyes glued across the room and seeming starstruck. “Beyonce is in the room with us and I don’t know what to do.”

Tony pursed his lips, looking over at the woman in a long white gown draped casually over Morgan’s chair. She gave a smug nod. He glowered.

“That’s not Beyonce, kid,” he said. “That’s the Reality Stone - you know, the powerful being who got us into this whole mess.”

She raised her hands in a gesture of innocence, even if her face was sly. “Once again, not me. Thanos started it, you ended it, and he, “ - she nodded to Peter - “...made it more interesting. But even so, you did it, team. I’m proud. _I_ had a good time, and I think I understand a little more about that odd bunny book now.”

Tony sighed, looking heavenward, though Peter was now stuck a step back.

“Wait,” the kid yelped. “You’re the rock? The one I used to…” He glanced at Tony, almost timidly, and laughed nervously when the man narrowed his eyes in an _‘oh yeah, we’re going to talk about that’_ sort of way. He pressed on admirably, “Uh, you weren’t a person then. You definitely weren’t Beyonce then.”

The woman laughed angelically. “Peter, sweet. Like I said, this was just too interesting not to get more involved. Sorry for the tough love at times, though I really did enjoy our time together - "

“You’ll enjoy it when I finally stick you down a garbage disposal,” Tony murmured. 

“ - alas, you two have so much waiting for you now. Don’t let little ol’ me stand in your way.”

Peter opened his mouth, but he got nothing out before the door to the bedroom slammed open and both of their heads snapped to look at it.

Morgan Stark stood there in her little black funeral dress, hand pressed to the door and her clever eyes meeting theirs in an expression of severe judgement. 

“Uh,” said Tony. He cleared his throat. “H-hey, ‘goona. I - ”

He glanced back at the chair where the being disguised as Beyonce once sat, but now there was only an iridescent red stone winking playfully at him. 

Things were moving fast all of a sudden.

“Daddy… everyone says you went somewhere,” Morgan said in a confused voice.

“I can explain,” he calmed reasonably, hopping off the bed. 

Even so, he hadn’t thought of an explanation yet when her arms folded and her eyebrows raised at him. “Mommy is sad,” she scolded. “Have you been hiding in my room this whole time? That’s not a nice way to play hide-and-seek.”

“Pete started it,” he defended weakly, looking back and forth between his kids, and then all at once he was hit with overwhelming gratitude. Gratitude and peace and joy - just, all the good things. 

They won. 

He knelt and kissed Morgan full on the cheek and she giggled, protesting, “Eww!” He laughed as well.

“Go tell Mommy and everyone else you have a surprise for them,” he said, sweeping back her hair. She grinned at him and nodded, turning and racing down the stairs.

When he turned back around, Peter was staring dazedly at the wall. Cogs were clearly turning; he said nothing for so long that Tony began to get genuinely worried. Commotion was stirring downstairs as Morgan’s voice rang out with the news and he knew things were about to get even more overwhelming.

Tony came and sat on the edge of the bed again. 

“Bud?” he prompted. “Your processor feeling a bit overloaded there?”

“A bit,” Peter breathed, finally looking at him again. “Mr. Stark… that just happened, right? All of that?”

“I remember it if you do. Particularly the falling-to-our-deaths part, if I’m honest.”

“Too soon,” the kid said weakly.

Tony conceded with a shrug. He held out his hand, and Peter looked at it.

“Hey… You’re stupidly brave, you know that? And even if your methods were - questionable… I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t really, really glad to be alive. Particularly now that there’s a _you_ in the world. That dumb stone was right about one thing: you and I have a lot of quality time to catch up on. So… thank you, kid.”

The corners of Peter’s mouth twitched up and his eyes shone as they returned to Tony’s, but he said nothing. 

“Are you ready to blow some minds, or what?” the man asked.

After a moment the kid nodded, swallowing. He slipped his fingers into Tony’s.

“I think it's more like we’re blowing their _reality_.”

Tony groaned. “Never say that word to me again.”

... 

_“Shucks,” said the bunny, “I might as well stay where I am and be your little bunny.”_

_And so he did._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, I hope you enjoyed this fun time :)
> 
> If you want another endgame fix-it involving an infinity stone, I present my other one: [Peter's Ghost and one (1) obnoxious orange stone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19783960) ;) Look, i could make a fix-it out of every single stone. The ways are endless.
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> My tumblr one more time: [the-reverse-mermaid](https://the-reverse-mermaid.tumblr.com)


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